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THE    DEEP    SEA'S    TOLL 


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a. 


THE  DEEP 
SEA'S  TOLL 


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BY 

JAMES    B.    CONNOLLY 

AUTHOR   OF   "OUT  OF  GLOUCESTER," 
"THE  SEINERS,"   ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

JV.  J.  Aylward  fcf  //.  Reuterdahl 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK:::::::::::::::::i9o5 


0\L\ 


Cl 


<»V 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  September,  1905 


TROW   DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDINO  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Sail-Carriers I 

The  Wicked  "Celestine" 41 

The  Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell      .     .     71 

Strategy  and  Seamanship 133 

Dory-Mates 159 

The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller  .     .     .     .199 

On  Georges  Shoals 243 

Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 273 


925572 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"'Tis  Tommic  I'm  after,"  hollers  back  the  Skipper 

Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"All  the  looseness  in  my  oil-pants  is  ketched  tight  "   .      26 

What's  that  a-drivin*  in  from  sea,  like  a  ghost  from  out 

the  dawn  ? 32 

Stood  by  and  took  them  as  they  came  down      ...      64 

A  tug  bore  down  and  hailed  them 68 

He  was  having  another  mug-up  for  himself   .      .      .      .114 

The    Lucy  was  acting    like  a  vessel    trying    to    coax  the 

other 152 

"You  just    try  it — just   let    me    see    you    try    it,  Sam 

Leary  " 234 


THE  SAIL-CARRIERS 


The  Sail-Carriers 

I  : :  • :  :  \  : 

IT  was  a  howling  gale  outside,- but  howling ,gales 
were  common  things  to  Peter,  and  hri'did  not 
see  why  this  one  need  hinder  his  taking  a  little 
stroll  along  the  docks.  Something  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  vessel  just  rounding  the  Point  helped 
to  give  new  life  to  the  idea  he  had  been  entertain- 
ing for  some  minutes  now — that  a  little  trip  along 
the  harbor  front  wouldn't  be  a  half  bad  notion. 

Exactly  what  that  something  was  Peter  could 
not  say.  Queer  inner  workings  were  not  to  be 
argued  as  if  they  were  Trust  or  Tariff  questions; 
but  this  vessel — and  she  certainly  was  an  able  ves- 
sel— and  the  vessel  just  before  her  was  an  able 
vessel  too — both  these  vessels,  he  might  say,  tear- 
ing around  the  Point,  rails  buried  and  booms  drag- 
ging, did  suggest  in  some  way  Peter  couldn't  quite 
reason  out,  that  his  intended  little  voyage  was  a 
good  idea. 

It  had  been  ever  so  with  Peter.  Never  one  of 
his  favorites  came  swinging  in  before  a  breeze  that 
he  did  not  begin  to  get  nervous.     So,  having  made 

3 


The  Sail-Carriers 

a  note  of  the  Colleen  Bawnf  Tom  O'Donnell  mas- 
ter, under  a  note  of  the  Nannie  O,  Tommie  Ohl- 
sen  master,  and  seeing  nothing  further  to  hinder 
he  just  the  same  as  conferred  a  decoration  on  the 
most  meritorious  of  his  volunteer  staff  by  giving 
him  full  charge  of  the  tower  while  he  should  be 
gone.  \  .'Tl^en,  with  conscience  clear,  he  climbed 
dpwn,.the  winding  back  stairs  and  out  onto  the 
fctriefc  *::..:-••'■ 

In  and  about  among  the  wharves  did  Peter  jog 
under  easy  sail  until  he  felt  somewhat  more  rested. 
He  was,  indeed,  about  to  return  to  Crow's  Nest, 
but  happening  to  glance  down  Duncan's  Dock,  he 
made  out  Dexter  Warren  painting  dories  under  the 
lee  of  the  long  shed.  "  Miracles !  "  murmured 
Peter,  "  Dexter' s  workin\"  Picking  his  course 
over  the  planks  of  the  dock,  tacking  in  and  out 
among  the  fish  flakes,  empty  hogsheads  and  old 
broken  spars,  Peter  noticed  Dexter  step  away  from 
his  dories,  raise  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  take  a  squint 
across  the  harbor,  shake  his  head  sadly,  come  back 
and  resume  his  dory-painting. 

But  resumed  it  leisurely,  for  Dexter,  as  every- 
body in  Gloucester  that  knew  him  knew,  was  not 
the  man  to  do  things  in  a  bull-headed  way.  That 
some  men  painted  portraits  with  less  care  than 
Dexter  painted  bankers'  dories  was  readily  believed 
by  anyone  who  had  ever  seen  Dexter  painting 

4 


The  Sail-Carriers 

dories.  Dexter  would  have  told  you  that  the 
dories  were  the  more  useful.  He  was  now  put- 
ting in  the  discriminating  touches  that  distinguish 
the  type  of  man  who  works  for  something  other 
than  the  money  there  is  in  it.  It  was  the  precise 
little  dab  of  the  brush  here  and  a  deft  little  flirt 
of  the  wrist  there,  and  the  holding  of  the  head 
first  to  one  side  and  then  the  other,  that  caught  the 
eye  of  Peter  when  he  rounded  to  under  Dexter's 
quarter  and  hailed. 

II  Hulloh,  Dexter-boy;  and  what's  it  you're 
paintin'  ?  " 

"  Miniachoors  —  miniachoors  on  iv'ry,"  re- 
sponded Dexter,  with  brush  suspended  at  arm's 
length,  and  himself  swinging  slowly  around.  He 
had  some  more  little  repartee  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue,  but  seeing  who  it  was  he  forgot  it,  and 
"  Hulloh,  Peter,"  he  said  instead,  "  and  what 
ever  druv  you  out  this  mornin'  ?  " 

II I  dunno.     The  confinement,  maybe." 

"  Ah,  that's  bad — too  much  confinement." 

"  That's  what  I  was  thinkin'  myself.  For  who 
are  the  dories?  " 

"  Captain  O'Donnell." 

11  For  the  Colleen  Bawnf  A  man'd  think'd  be 
a  new  vessel  and  not  new  dories  he'd  be  gettin' 
— the  old  one's  that  wracked  apart.  Red  bot- 
toms, yeller  sides,  and  green  gunnels — m'm — but 

5 


The  Sail- Carriers 

they'll  be  swell-lookin'  dories  when  you  get  'em 
done,  won't  they  ?  " 

"  They'll  be  the  prettiest  dories  that  was  ever 
put  aboard  a  trawler  out  of  Gloucester,"  said  Dex- 
ter, appreciatively. 

"I'll  bet.  And  he'll  be  pleased  with  'em,  I 
know — 'specially  the  green  gunnels — and  he  ought 
t'  be  along  soon." 

"Who  along  soon? — not  the  Colleen  Bawnf " 

"  Sure.  She  was  comin'  around  the  Point 
just  as  I  left  Crow's  Nest." 

"No!  Well,  I'm  glad,"  breathed  Dexter. 
"  I'm  glad  he's  home  again.  And  so'll  his  wife 
be,  too.  There  was  that  gale  just  after  she  left. 
His  wife,  I'll  bet,  ain't  slept  a  wink  since." 

Peter  straddled  the  sheer  of  a  broken  topmast. 
"Whose  wife,  Dexter? — not  meanin'  to  be  in- 
quisitive." 

"  Why,  Jimmie  Johnson's.  He's  on  the  Col- 
leen this  trip." 

"  Him  ?  The  little  fellow  lumps  around  here 
sometimes?  Why,  we  used  to  scare  him  'most  to 
death  up  in  Crow's  Nest  tellin' —  How  came  it 
he  got  it  into  his  head  to  go  fishin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  what  the  papers'd  call  a  little  mat- 
rimonial difference.  I  expect  that  him  and  his 
wife  ain't  got  real  well  acquainted  with  each  other 
yet.     He's  pretty  young  yet,  and  she  don't  know 

6 


The  Sail-Carriers 

too  much  about  the  world.  I  know,  because  she's 
my  first  cousin.  Young  married  couples,  I  s'pose, 
got  to  have  'bout  so  many  arguments  before  they 
find  each  other  out.  I  ain't  married  myself,  but 
ain't  it  about  that  way,  Peter?  " 

"  Well,  generally,  Dexter,  though  not  always." 
Peter  jabbed  the  point  of  his  knife-blade  into  his 
spar.  "  You  see,  Dexter,  it's  a  good  deal  like 
vessels.  You  don't  always  know  how  to  take 
them  at  first.  There's  some  sails  best  down  by 
the  head,  and  some  by  the  stern.  There's  some'll 
come  about  in  the  wildest  gale  under  headsail 
alone,  and  others  you  have  to  drive  around  with 
the  trys'l  or  a  bit  of  the  mains'l  and  that,  too, 
when  a  minute  too  late  means  the  vessel  gone  up 
on  the  rocks.  Some  you  c'n  find  all  about  how 
they  trim  the  first  trip,  and  some  you  c'n  never 
find  out  about;  and  some  fine  day  they  rolls  over 
or  goes  under,  and  the  whole  gang's  lost.  But 
about  Jimmie,  Dexter — how'd  Tom  O'Donnell 
ever  come  to  ship  him?  " 

"  Lord,  I  dunno.  I  only  know  I  came  down 
on  the  dock  that  mornin',  and  he  was  standin' 
right  where  I  am  now,  just  goin*  to  begin  on  a 
new  set  of  dories  for  the  Scarrabee  that  was  fittin' 
out  to  go  halibutin*.  When  I  came  along  I  was 
wonderin'  where  I  could  get  about  a  week's  work. 
I  didn't  want  more'n  a  v/eek,  because  I'd  been 

7 


The  Sail-Carriers 

promised  a  job  in  the  glue  factory  the  first  of  the 
month,  and  I  never  did  see  the  use  of  wearin'  your- 
self out  beforehand  when  you're  goin'  to  start  in 
soon  on  a  steady  job,  would  you,  Peter?" 

"  Well," — Peter  made  a  few  more  thoughtful 
jabs  into  the  topmast — "  well,  no,  maybe  not — 
more  especially  if  't  was  a  glue  factory  job." 

"  That's  what  I  say.  Well,  I  notices  some- 
thing was  wrong,  and  I  asks  what  the  matter  was. 
*  Tired  of  work?'  I  says,  thinkin'  to  cheer  him 
up." 

"  *  Tired  of  everything,'  says  Jimmie,  and  I  see 
he  was  'most  ready  to  cry.  Well,  you  know  the 
kind  he  is,  Peter.  He  ain't  one  of  them  fellows 
that'll  go  out  and  have  a  few  drinks  for  himself 
and  forget  it.  No;  he  thinks  over  things  that 
don't  amount  to  nothin'  till  he's  near  crazy — 
you've  met  them  kind?  Yes?  Well,  Jimmie 
was  that  way  this  mornin'.  I  drew  it  out  of  him 
that  he'd  had  a  scrap  up  home.  He  told  me, 
knowin'  I  wouldn't  tell  it  all  over  the  place, 
and " 

"  And  he  wound  up  by  shippinT  with  Tom 
O'Donnell?  How'd  Jimmie  ever  get  a  chance 
with  that  gang?     They're  an  able  crew." 

"  Lord,  I  dunno.  I  went  away,  and  warn't 
gone  more  than  an  hour  when  the  boy  from  the 
office  came  huntin'  for  me  and  says  that  Jimmie 

8 


The  Sail- Carriers 

Johnson'd  gone  a  haddockln'  trip  in  the  Colleen 
Bawn  and  did  I  want  his  job?  And  I  came  back 
and  went  to  work  thinkin'  I  had  a  week  ahead  of 
me  or  so,  and  here  it's  the  fourteenth  day — not 
countin'  Sundays — and  I'm  glad  he's  back,  and  I 
hope  he  hurries  ashore  as  soon's  they  come  to 
anchor.  Fourteen  days  now  paintin'  dories  and 
lumpin'  around  this  dock,  and " 

"  And  that  poor  boy  out  in  the  Colleen  Bawn 
in  that  last  blow!  Well,  maybe  it'll  do  him 
good.  Your  cousin,  you  say,  Dexter?  I  think 
I've  seen  her — and  a  nice  little  woman,  too — 
though  I  expect  there  was  a  little  to  blame  on 
both  sides.  There  gen'rally  is.  But  I  must  be 
gettin'  back.  I  left  a  lad  in  charge  of  Crow's 
Nest  that  I'm  afeard  ain't  able  to  pick  out  a 
Georgesman  from  an  Eyetalian  barque  loaded 
with  salt  till  they're  under  his  nose,  and  maybe 
he  won't  be  reportin'  one  or  two  to  the  office  till 
after  they  know  it  themselves,  and  then  some- 
body'll  ketch  the  devil — me,  most  likely.  So,  so 
long,  Dexter." 

Regretfully  relinquishing  his  old  topmast,  and 
leaving  Dexter  and  his  dories  in  his  wake,  Peter 
gradually  gathered  steerage-way,  and  headed  up 
the  dock,  from  where,  in  time,  he  managed  to 
work  into  the  street,  and  then,  with  Duncan's 
office  to  port  and  a  good  beam  wind,  he  bore 

9 


The  Sail- Carriers 

away  for  Crow's  Nest.  He  had  it  in  mind  to 
go  by  way  of  the  Anchorage,  and  laying  his  course 
therefor — no  Vest  by  nothe — he  hauled  up  for 
the  Anchorage  corner. 

Luffing  the  least  bit  to  clear  the  brass  railings 
outside  the  Anchorage  windows,  and  having  in 
mind  all  the  while  how  fine  it  would  be  once  he 
was  around  with  a  fair  wind  at  his  back,  and 
bending  his  head  at  the  same  time  to  the  breeze, 
Peter  ran  plump  into  somebody  coming  the  other 
way. 

u  I  say,  matey,  but  could  you  swing  her  off  a 
half-point  or  so?  "  sung  out  the  other  cheerfully. 

"  Swing  off?  Why,  of  course,  but  gen'rally  a 
vessel  close-hauled  is  s'posed  to  have  right  of 
way  where  I  come  from." 

"  Close-hauled  are  you?  Well,  so'm  I — or  I 
thought  I  was." 

"  And  so  maybe  y'are,  if  you're  so  round-bowed 
and  flat-bottomed  a  craft  you  can't  sail  closer  than 
seven  or  eight  points.    Anyway,  I'm  starb'd  tack." 

"  Well,  who  in — "  The  other  peered  up. 
"Why,  hello-o,  Peter!" 

"What!  Well,  well,  Tommie  Clancy!  the 
Colleen  Bawn  in  already?" 

11  To  anchor  in  the  stream  not  two  minutes 
ago.     I  hurried  ashore  on  an  errand  for  her." 

11  And  what  kind  of  a  trip  did  y'  have?  " 
10 


The  Sail-Carriers 

"  Oh,  nothing  extra  so  far  as  the  fish  went, 
but  good  and  lively  every  other  way.  Stayed 
out  in  that  breeze  week  before  last  and  left 
Georges  last  night  with  that  latest  spoon-bow 
model  and  I  guess  she's  still  a-comin\  Some 
wind  last  night  comin'  home,  Peter." 

11  M-m — I'll  bet  she  came  a-howlin\" 

"  Oh,  maybe  she  didn't.  Peter  boy,  but  if  you 
only  could've  seen  her  hoppin'  over  the  shoals 
last  night  and  comin'  up  to  Cape  Ann  this  morn- 
in' !  But  let's  step  inside,  and  have  a  little 
touch." 

11  Well,  I  don't  mind,  seein'  the  kind  of  a  day 
it  is,  Tommie.  And  I  want  to  ask  you  about  that 
little  fellow  you  shipped — Jimmie  Johnson." 

"  Ho,  ho—4  Your  oilskins  are  too  loose,'  says 
the  Skipper  to  him.  Ho,  ho — wait  and  I'll 
tell  you  about  him,  Peter — *  Your  oilskins  too 
loose — '  ho,  ho." 

"What  did  he  mean  by  that?" 

"Wait,  till  I  tell  you,  Peter-boy.  But  let's 
sit  down  and  drink  in  comfort.  There  y'are. 
Here's  a  shoot.  G-g-g-h-!  m-m-!  but  ain't  it  fine 
to  feel  that  soaking  into  your  inside  planking 
after  you've  been  carryin'  a  dry  hold  for  sixteen 
days?  Ain't  it?  What?  You  bet!  And  about 
the  little  lumper-man — it  was  funny  from  the 
start.    I  was  down  the  end  of  the  dock  the  mornin* 

ii 


The  Sail-Carriers 

we  left,  with  the  dory,  waiting  for  the  Skipper, 
when  along  comes  this  little  fellow  lookin'  like 
something  sad'd  happened.  I  kind  of  half  knew 
him  from  seein'  him  around  the  dock  now  and 
again.  He  seemed  to  be  lookin'  for  some  good 
sympathetic  party  to  tell  his  troubles  to  and  I  let 
him  pour  them  into  me.  He  talks  away  and  I 
listens  and  before  he's  through  I  begin  to  see 
what  the  trouble  was.  *  What  you  need  is  a 
couple  of  drinks,'  I  says — *  What  d'y'  say  if  we 
step  up  the  dock  and  have  a  litle  touch  ?  ' 

"  '  No,  no,'  says  he,  *  I  ain't  drunk  a  drop 
since  I  got  married — and  I  never  will  whilst  I 
am  married.' 

"  l  Then  if  you  don't  hurry  up  and  get  a 
divorce,  I  can  see  that  you  are  goin'  to  carry 
around  an  awful  thirst,'  I  says,  but  the  way  he 
took  it  I  see  he  didn't  want  any  foolin'.  And  then, 
to  soothe  him,  I  asked  why  he  didn't  go  a  had- 
dockin'  trip,  and  forget  it." 

"  *  Do  you  think  I'd  forget  it?'  he  asks, 
eager-like. 

11 '  Well,'  I  said,  '  I  can't  say.  Some  people  re- 
member things  a  long  time,  but  you  go  a  trip 
with  Tom  O'Donnell,  and  you'll  stand  a  pretty 
good  chance  'specially  'bout  this  time  o'  year,'  I 
says.  '  And  maybe  it'll  teach  people  a  lesson,'  I 
insinuates.     And  just  then  down  the  dock  comes 

12 


The  Sail-Carriers 

the  Skipper,  with  big  Jerry  Sullivan.  Ain't  he  a 
whale  though — big  Jerry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  gettin'  bigger  every  day." 
"  Yes.  Well,  the  Skipper  was  layin'  down  the 
law  to  big  Jerry,  and  you  could  hear  him  the 
length  of  the  dock.  He  was  sayin',  '  I  told  him 
we'd  leave  at  nine  o'clock,  and  it's  quarter-past 
now,  and  I  told  him  above  all  the  others,  knowin' 
his  failin'.  He  knows  me,  and  he  oughter  know 
that  when  I  say  nine  o'clock  that  'tis  nine  o'clock 

I  mean,  and  not  ten,  or  eleven,  or  two  in  the 
afternoon;  and  we've  been  in  two  nights  now,  and 
he's  had  plenty  o'  time  to  loosen  up  since." 

"  '  That's  right  enough,   Skipper,'   says  Jerry. 

I I  heard  you  myself,  and  I  said  myself,  "  Now, 
mind,  Bartley,  what  the  Skipper's  tellin'  you." 
But  you  see,  Skipper,  it  was  a  weddin'  last  night, 
and  a  wake  the  night  before ' 

"  '  A  wake  and  a  weddin' !  And  whose  wed- 
din'— his?'  roars  the  Skipper. 

"  •  Why,  no,'  says  Jerry. 

11 '  Was  it  his  wake,  then? ' 

"  *  Why,  Skipper,  don't  you  know  it  couldn't 
been  his  wake? ' 

"  '  Not  his  wake  and  not  his  weddin'  ?  Then 
what  the  divil  reason  has  he?  ' 

u  *  Why,'  said  Jerry,  '  I  ain't  sayin'  he's  got 
any  good  reason.     But  you  know  what  he  thinks 

*3 


The  Sail-Carriers 

of  you  and  of  the  vessel.  He's  been  in  the 
Colleen  ever  since  she  was  built,  and  he's  a 
fisherman — a  fisherman,  Skipper,  stem  to  stern  a 
fisherman — and  he  knows  your  ways  and  the  ves- 
sel's ways,'  says  Jerry. 

14  *  Indeed,  and  I'm  not  sure  he  knows  my  ways 
too  well,'  says  the  Skipper.  *  It's  so  proud  he 
should  be  to  sail  in  the  Colleen  Bawn,  the  fastest, 
ablest  vessel  out  of  Gloucester,  if  I  do  say  it 
myself,  that —  But  no  more  talk.  To  the 
divil  with  him.  There's  the  dory — jump  in  and 
go  aboard.' 

"'But  what'll  I  do  for  a  dory-mate?'  says 
Jerry. 

"  '  Oh,  I'll  get  you  a  dory-mate.  When  we 
put  into  Boston  for  bait  there'll  be  plenty  to 
pick  up  on  T  wharf.' 

"  Well,  just  there  I  nudges  the  little  lumper, 
and  he  sets  his  jaws  and  steps  up:  *  Captain,  could 
you  give  me  a  chance?  I'd  like  to  ship  with  you 
for  a  trip.' 

"  The  Skipper  looks  down  at  him.  *  And  who 
are  you  ? ' 

"  And  right  away  he  begins  to  tell  his  troubles 
to  the  Skipper,  and  the  Skipper — you  know  the 
Skipper — listens  like  a  father.  But  he  near  spoiled 
it  all  by  windin'  up,  '  Oh,  I've  been  workin' 
around  the  dock  lately,  but  I  used  to  be  quarter- 

J4 


The  Sail-Carriers 

master  on  a  harbor  steamer  in  Boston  one  time,' 
to  let  the  Skipper  know  he  wouldn't  have  a  pas- 
senger on  his  hands. 

"  The  Skipper  looks  him  up  and  looks  him 
down.  '  Quartermaster  on  a  harbor  steamer  once< 
was  you?  Think  of  that,  now.  It's  the  proud 
man  you  oughter  be !  And  about  as  big  as  a  pair 
of  good  woolen  mitts !  But ' — and  he  looks  over 
at  Jerry  sideways — *  you'll  have  a  mate  that's 
big  enough.  Jerry,'  and  he  begins  to  smile  sly- 
like,  '  Jerry,  here's  the  dory-mate  you've  been 
screechin'  for.' 

u  '  What ! '  howls  Jerry,  '  him— him !  Why,  I 
could  slip  him  into  one  of  my  red-jacks.  That 
little  shrimp !     A  shrimp  ?     No — a  minim ! ' 

"  It  was  scandalous,  of  course,  to  speak  out 
like  that  to  the  little  man  to  his  face,  but  Jerry 
and  Bartley  were  great  friends,  you  see;  and 
Jerry' d  kept  on,  but  the  Skipper  puts  an  end  to  it 
quick,  and  we  went  aboard. 

"  Well,  we  puts  into  Boston  for  the  bait,  gets 
it  up  to  T  wharf  and  puts  out.  Coming  down 
the  harbor  it  was  Jerry  and  the  little  man's  watch 
on  deck.  Jerry  put  him  to  the  wheel.  '  Bein' 
quartermaster  of  a  harbor  steamer  here  once, 
of  course  you  know  the  channel,'  says  Jerry,  and 
leaves  him  and  goes  for'ard.  Well,  we  went 
along  till  we  were  pretty  near  the  little  light-house 

15 


The  Sail-Carriers 

on  the  thin  iron  legs  that  sets  up  like  it  was  on 
stilts.  Well,  you  know  how  the  channel  is  there, 
Peter,  and  this  time  it  was  blowin'  some — wind 
abeam.  I  mind  the  little  man  askin'  Jerry  afore 
this  if  it  warn't  pretty  bad  weather  to  be  puttin' 
to  sea  and  Jerry  sayin'  maybe  it  would  be  for 
harbor  steamers.  We  were  crowdin'  along  at 
this  time,  Jerry  for'ard  by  the  windlass,  me  in  the 
waist,  and  the  little  man  to  the  wheel.  We  gets 
near  to  the  little  light-house — like  a  spider  on 
long  legs  it  was — Bug  Light  is  the  name  of  it, 
and  a  good  name  for  it,  too.  We  were  crowdin' 
through,  and  I  was  thinkin'  of  askin'  Jerry  if  he 
hadn't  better  take  the  wheel  himself,  and  then  I 
thought  I  wouldn't.  It  warn't  my  watch,  and  you 
don't  like  to  be  hintin'  to  a  man  that  he  don't 
know  his  business,  you  know,  not  even  to  a  man 
that  was  green  as  this  one  might  be  in  handlin' 
a  fisherman.  Well,  we  gets  nearer  and  I  noticed 
the  little  man  beginnin'  to  fidget  like  he  was 
nervous  or  something.  At  last  he  hollers  out  to 
Jerry,  *  I  say,  matey,  what'll  I  do  ?  I  don't 
know's  I  c'n  keep  her  away  from  the  light,  and 
there's  rocks  on  the  other  side.  What'll  I  do, 
matey  ?  ' 

Jerry  turns  around.  *  Whatever  you  do,  don't 
call  me  matey.  And  whatever  you  do  again,  don't 
put  this  vessel  up  on  the  rocks  or  the  Skipper' 11 

16 


The  Sail-Carriers 

swing  you  from  the  fore-gaff  peak  and  let  this  fine 
no'therly  blow  through  you.' 

"  *  But  we  won't  go  by,'  hollers  the  little  man; 
*  we're  goin'  to  hit  it.' 

"  *  Well,  hit  it  if  you  want  to,'  says  Jerry — '  it's 
your  wheel.  You  shipped  in  Bartley  Campbell's 
place,  now  do  Bartley  Campbell's  work.  Any- 
way,' goes  on  Jerry,  *  you  won't  do  any  great 
harm  if  you  do.  It's  bent  to  one  side  anyway  here 
where  some  old  coaster  or  other  hit  it  a  clip  last 
fall.     Maybe  you  c'n  straighten  it  out.' 

"  Jerry  no  more  than  got  that  out  than  the  ves- 
sel got  way  from  the  little  man  and  ran  into  the 
light.  She  hit  it  fair  as  could  be,  with  her  bow- 
sprit against  one  of  the  long,  thin  iron  legs,  and 
she  did  give  it  a  wallop.  There  was  a  man 
climbin'  up  the  ladder  the  other  side  of  the  light 
— to  fill  his  lamps,  I  s'pose — and  when  we  hit  the 
light  he  shook  off  like  an  apple  from  a  tree,  and 
drops  into  the  water.  The  vessel  bounces  off 
where  we  hit,  and  the  Skipper  and  the  rest  of  the 
gang  comes  rushin'  up  on  deck.  *  What  the 
divil's  that?'  says  the  Skipper;  and  seein'  the 
man  in  the  water,  he  rushes  to  the  side  and  gaffs 
him  in  nice  and  handy. 

"  *  What  the  devil  do  you  mean?  '  says  the  man 
the  Skipper'd  gaffed,  soon's  he'd  got  his  mouth 
clear  of  salt  water. 

n 


The  Sail-Carriers 

"  '  What  the  divil  do  you  mean?'  says  our 
Skipper,  'by  comin'  aboard  this  vessel?'  He's 
about  as  quick  a  man  to  see  a  thing — that  Tom 
O'Donnell — as  ever  I  saw  in  my  life. 

"'What  do  I  mean?'  says  the  man.  'What 
do  you  mean  by  running  that  gaff  into  me  the 
way  you  did?  ' 

"  '  Holy  Mother!  '  says  the  Skipper,  '  but  will 
you  listen  to  him?  It's  gold  medals  we  should 
be  gettin'  from  the  Humane  Societies  for  savin' 
the  life  of  him,  and  now  it's  nothin'  but  growling 
because  we  did  save  it.' 

"  '  Saved  my  life ! '  sputters  the  light-house 
lad.  '  My  boat  was  right  there  when  I  fell. 
Why,  it  ain't  your  vessel's  length  away  now  under 
the  light ' — the  Colleen  was  beginnin'  to  slide 
away  again — '  and  I  want  you  to  know  I  c'n 
swim  like  a  fish.' 

"  '  Then  swim,  ye  divil  ye,  swim ! '  says  the 
Skipper  quick's  a  wink,  and  picks  him  up  and 
heaves  him  over  the  rail.  '  Yes,'  says  big  Jerry, 
1  swim,  you  lobster,  swim ! '  and  he  pushes  him 
along  with  an  oar  he'd  grabbed  out  the  top  dory. 
And  he  did  swim,  too. 

"  And  then  the  Skipper  comes  aft.  '  Who 
the  divil,'  says  he,  'was  to  the  wheel?'  and 
spots  the  little  man,  who  was  lookin'  more  sur- 
prised than  the  light-keeper  in  the  water.     '  And 

18 


The  Sail-Carriers 

where'd  you  ever  steer  a  vessel  before?  '  says  the 
Skipper. 

"  *  I  dunno's  I  did  so  very  bad/  answers  the 
little  man.  *  I  used  to  be  quartermaster  on  a 
harbor  steamer  once,  and  I  kept  her  off  the  rocks.7 

"  The  Skipper  looked  at  him  like  he  was  a  new 
kind  of  fish.  '  Indeed,  was  you  now?  And  you 
kept  her  off  the  rocks?  And  did  you  ship  for  a 
fisherman  or  what?'  And  the  Skipper  looks  at 
him  a  little  more,  then  laughs  and  takes  the  wheel 
himself.  '  Maybe,'  says  he,  '  the  insurance  com- 
pany would  like  it  better  if  I  took  her  the  rest  of 
the  way  out  of  the  harbor  myself.  And  I  don't 
want  to  lose  her  myself.  She's  too  good  a  vessel 
— the  fastest  and  the  ablest  out  o'  Gloucester. 
But  go  below  now,  boy,  and  have  your  supper.' 

11  Well,  that  passed  by  all  right,  but  outside  the 
harbor,  off  Minot's,  we  ran  foul  of  the  Superba — 
that's  the  new  one,  the  latest  spoon-bow  model. 
He  sees  her  comin'  and  sways  up,  but  she  comes 
on  and  goes  on  by — goes  on  by  nice  and  easy. 
*  And  she  used  to  be  a  good  vessel  once,'  says 
Dick  Mason,  her  skipper,  to  some  of  his  gang 
standing  aft.  We  could  hear  him — he  meant  us 
to  hear  him — '  of  course,  a  good  vessel  once,  the 
Colleen  Bawn,  but  she's  been  wracked  so  she  can't 
carry  sail  no  longer.' 

"  Imagine  Tom  O'Donnell,  Peter,  having  to 
J9 


The  Sail-Carriers 

stand  on  the  quarter  of  his  own  vessel  and  take 
that  from  Dick  Mason — imagine  it,  Peter,  and 
from  Dick  Mason  that,  standing  on  deck  and 
wide-awake,  couldn't  sail  a  vessel  like  Tom 
O'Donnell  could  from  his  bunk  below  and  half 
asleep.  The  Skipper  looked  after  her,  then  he 
turns  us  to,  and  it  was  sway  up  and  no  end  to 
the  trimmin'  of  sheets.  But  no  use.  The  Su- 
perba  kept  goin'  on  away,  and  the  Skipper 
couldn't  make  it  out.  He  stood  with  one  foot  on 
the  house,  his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  his  elbow  on 
his  knee,  and  tried  to  figure  it  out  as  he  looked 
after  her.  It  was  by  the  wind,  and  plenty  of  it — 
the  rail  nice  and  wet — couldn't  been  better  for  our 
vessel.  '  There's  something  wrong,'  says  he. 
And  there  was  something  wrong.  We  found  it 
after  awhile.  It  was  one  of  the  iron  bands  that 
was  holdin'  her  together — the  one  for'ard  was 
loose  and  draggin'  under  her  bottom.  The  Skip- 
per was  tickled  to  death  when  he  found  what  it 
was.  '  Troth,  and  I  knew  there  was  something 
wrong  with  her,'  he  says;  and  puts  into  Province- 
town  and  has  it  bolted  on  again.  '  Now,'  he  says, 
*  she'll  be  nice  and  tight  again  when  we  wants  to 
drive  her.  And  if  we  runs  foul  of  that  spoon- 
bow  again,  we'll  see.'  We  warn't  out  the  harbor 
hardly  before  the  wind  gettin'  at  her,  she  begins 
to   leak   for'ard,   but  the   Skipper  pretended  he 

20 


The  Sail-Carriers 

didn't  see  it,  puts  around  the  Cape  and  off  for 
Georges,  where  we  got  to  just  about  in  time  to 
ketch  that  no'west  gale  that  was  riotin'  out  there 
the  week  before  last.  We  were  blowed  off,  but 
banged  her  back,  blowed  off  and  banged  her  back 
again,  tryin'  to  hang  on  to  shoal  water  so's  to  be 
handy  to  good  fishin'  when  it  moderated.  But 
it  was  a  week  before  it  did  moderate,  and  by  that 
time  the  Colleen  was  pretty  well  shook  up,  with 
the  water  sizzlin'  through  her  like  she  was  a 
lobster-pot  for'ard,  and  the  gang  makin'  guesses 
on  how  long  before  she'd  come  apart  altogether. 
The  Skipper,  he  didn't  seem  to  mind.  '  She's  a 
little  loose,'  says  he,  '  but  don't  let  it  worry  ye. 
Keep  your  rubber  boots  on,  and  don't  mind.  So 
long  as  the  iron  bands  hangs  to  her  planks,  she's 
all  right.' 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  it  moderated,  and  we  got  a 
chance  to  fish  a  little  on  and  off  for  another  week, 
and  the  troubles  of  Jerry  with  his  dory-mate 
would  fill  a  book  that  week.  *  It's  two  men's  work 
you  have  now,  Jerry,'  I  says  to  him.  '  'Tisn't  two 
but  three,'  says  Jerry.  *  It's  my  own  work  and 
his  work  and  another  man's  work  to  see  he  don't 
get  tangled  up  in  the  trawls  or  capsize  the  dory 
or  fall  over  himself  and  get  lost.'  However, 
fishin'  on  and  off  brought  us  to  yesterday,  when, 
with  the  wind  makin'  all  the  time,  it  got  too  rough 

21 


The  Sail-Carriers 

toward  the  evenin'  to  put  the  dories  out,  and  we 
used  the  time  up  till  along  toward  dark  in 
dressin'  what  fish  we  had  on  deck  and  cuttin'  fresh 
bait  for  next  day — to-day  that'd  be.  We'd  done 
all  that,  and  was  gettin'  ready  to  make  ourselves 
comfortable  for  the  night  with  the  Skipper  sayin' : 

*  Ten  thousand  more,  and  I'd  swing  her  off  for 
Gloucester,  I  would.  But  another  set,  and,  with 
any  kind  of  luck,  we'll  get  that,  and  then  we'll 
swing  her  off.'  He'd  only  just  said  that — he  was 
havin'  a  mug-up  for'ard  at  the  time — when  who- 
ever was  on  watch  sticks  his  head  down  the  gang- 
way, and  calls  out:  -  Captain,  here's  the  Superba, 
and  she's  goin'  home,  I  think.' 

11 '  What !  '  says  he,  and  gulps  his  coffee  and 
leaps  for  the  gangway,  and  we  knew  that  our  no- 
tions about  a  comfortable  night  might's  well  be 
forgotten.  He  takes  a  look  at  the  vessel  comin'. 
1  That's  Dickie  Mason,  sure  enough.  Shake  the 
reef  out  the  mains'l,  and  we'll  put  after  her.' 

"  '  Mason's  under  a  trys'l,  Skipper,'  says  big 
Jerry. 

"  '  And  so  would  I  be  in  that  cigar-box,'  says 
the  Skipper. 

"  We  drives  up  and  shoots  under  her  stern. 

*  Hi-i,  Captain  Mason ! '  sings  out  our  Skipper. 

"  *  Hi-i,  Captain  O'Donnell,'  hollers  Mason. 
"'Know  me?' 

22 


The  Sail-Carriers 

"  '  I  sure  do/ 

"  'And  this  vessel?' 

"'That  old  wrack? — I'd  know  her  in  a 
million.' 

"  '  Would  you  now?  Then  swing  on  your  heel 
and  follow  her  home.'  And  then  he  turns  to  us, 
4  Boom  her  out  now,  boys — boom  her  out — 
no'west  by  west  and  never  a  slack.'  And  off  he 
goes  straight  for  the  shoals,  with  a  livin'  south- 
easterly gale  and  the  black  night  on  us. 

"  'Twarn't  more  than  an  hour,  or  maybe  two, 
runnin'  like  that,  when  we  couldn't  make  out  the 
Superba's  lights  any  more.  The  Skipper  himself 
went  to  the  masthead  and  looked.  '  She's  put  to 
the  nothe'ard,  I  think,'  he  said,  comin'  down. 
1  But  then  again  maybe  he  isn't.  Maybe  he's  put 
them  out.  Anyway,  we'll  keep  on  and  make  a 
holy  show  of  her — the  fine  Superba,  indeed!  that 
don't  dare  to  follow  the  Colleen  Bawn,  all 
wracked  as  they  say  she  is !  Maybe  he'll  get  his 
courage  up  and  come  after  us  later,  but  whatever 
she  does  we'll  keep  this  one  as  she  is.' 

"  We  were  fair  into  the  shoal  water  then 
with  the  Skipper  keepin'  the  lead  goin'  himself. 
1  Billie  Simms  in  the  Henry  Parker  showed  me  in 
the  Lucy  Foster  the  short  course  over  these 
shoals,'  he  says — '  and  it  cost  me  twelve  hun- 
dred and  odd  dollars,  and  I  haven't  forgotten  the 

23 


The  Sail-Carriers 

road.'  He  warn't  tellin'  anybody  what  water  he 
was  gettin'.  It  was  pretty  shoal  though,  man,  it 
was.  Once  or  twice,  I  swear,  we  were  real  wor- 
ried. But  he's  the  lucky  man,  is  Tom  O'Donnell. 
The  wind  hauled  and  he  swung  her  fore-boom 
over  and  tried  to  spread  a  balloon.  It  carried 
away  her  foretopm'st,  which  maybe  was  just  as 
well.    And  all  night  long  he  kept  her  goin' " 

"  Lord,  but  you  must've  had  it,  Tommie.  And 
Jimmie  Johnson — how  was  he  makin'  out?" 

44  Jimmie  Johnson  ?  Ho,  ho !  the  little  lumper. 
Let  me  tell  you.  In  the  middle  of  the  night, 
thinkin'  the  worst  of  it  was  over,  with  the  shoals 
behind  us,  the  gang  went  below  and  turned  in, 
all  but  me.  I  gets  my  pipe  from  my  bunk  and 
was  havm'  a  smoke,  and  thinkin'  of  turnin'  in 
too,  when  this  Jimmie  Johnson  came  down,  look- 
in'  pretty  well  worried. 

"  '  Ain't  it  awful?  '  he  says. 

11  *  Ain't  what  awful?  '  I  asks. 

"  *  Why,  the  night — the  vessel — the  way  she's 
sailin' — and  everything  else.' 

"  *  Why  don't  you  turn  in?'  I  asked. 

11 '  It's  no  use  turnin'  in  now,'  he  answers ; 
1  my  watch  comes  in  half  an  hour  or  so.' 

"  *  Turn  in,'  says  I;  '  I'll  stand  your  watch.' 

14 '  Will  you  ? '  he  says,  and  looks  like  a  load'd 
come  off  his  chest. 

24 


The  Sail-Carriers 

"  He  was  goin'  to  turn  in  then,  when  he  hap- 
pened to  think  he'd  like  to  have  a  mug-up.  So 
he  gets  a  mug  of  coffee  and  a  slice  of  pie,  and 
takes  a  seat  on  the  wind'ard  locker.  There  was 
plenty  wind  stirrin'  then,  mind  you,  but  there  he 
was  havin'  a  nice  little  mug-up  for  himself,  sittin' 
on  the  weather-locker  and  all  oiled-up,  leanin'  over 
the  table,  his  mug  o'  coffee  to  one  hand  and  a 
wide  wedge  o'  pie  to  the  other.  Man,  I  have  to 
laugh  every  time  I  think  of  him.  *  The  cook  of 
this  vessel  does  make  the  finest  apple  pie,  don't 
he  ?  '  he  says,  and  you  could  see  his  spirits  was 
beginnin'  to  rise,  with  the  hot  coffee  gettin'  inside 
of  him.  The  Colleen  was  bumpin'  herself  all  this 
time,  rollin'  over  like  she  was  goin'  to  lie  down, 
and  then  gettin'  up  again,  rearm'  her  head  and 
fannin'  herself  with  her  forefeet,  standin'  on  her 
hind  legs  and  then  comin'  down  again,  doin'  all 
those  kind  of  things  you  gets  used  to  on  her  when 
the  Skipper's  tryin'  to  sail  her  in  a  blow.  Well, 
I  watches  this  little  Jimmie  for  awhile,  till  I  hap- 
pens to  think  that  so  long's  I  had  another  watch 
to  stand  I  might's  well  have  another  pipeful  while 
I  was  waitin'.  I  was  thinkin'  of  steppin'  over  for 
a  bit  of  tobacco  out  of  big  Jerry's  bunk,  which  was 
right  over  where  this  Jimmie  Johnson  was  sittin', 
when  the  Colleen  gave  an  extra  good  lurch,  and 
with  it  all  at  once  this  lad  sank  down  about  a 

25 


The  Sail-Carriers 

foot  or  so,  and  Jerry  at  the  same  time  most  comes 
through  the  bottom  of  his  bunk.  The  lad,  he  gets 
pale,  and  makes  as  if  he  was  tryin'  to  stand  up 
but  couldn't.  '  What  is  it?  '  I  said,  and  wonders 
what  was  wrong  with  him.  '  My  oil-skins,'  said 
he.  *  All  the  looseness  in  my  oil-pants  is  ketched 
tight.'  And  then  Jerry  woke  up,  with  the  noise 
he  made  in  fallin',  I  s'pose,  and  the  most  sur- 
prised man  you  ever  saw.  '  Mother  o'  mine ! ' 
says  Jerry,  '  what's  that?'  and  just  for'ard  of 
him  Aleck  McKenzie  leaps  a  full  three  feet  into 
the  air,  hittin'  the  deck  beam  so  hard  he  must've 
left  pieces  of  himself  stickin'  to  it.  '  What  in 
the — ! '  says  Aleck,  and  when  he  got  that 
far  he  sees  this  Jimmie  Johnson.  '  Did  you  do 
that? '  he  says. 

14  *  No,'  says  he,  and  tryin'  himself  to  get  off 
the  locker  Aleck  notices  him. 

11  *  What  you  doin'  there  anyway?  ■  says  Aleck. 

u  *  I  dunno,'  says  Jimmie,  and  just  then  the 
Colleen  falls  the  other  way  and  lets  him  loose 
again,  and  he  leaps  for  the  gangway  and  up 
on  deck.  Man,  he  fair  flew,  and  I  went  up  after 
him,  not  knowin'  what  might  happen  to  him, 
and  Jerry  and  Aleck  below  swearin'  like  crazy 
men. 

"  Up  on  the  deck  there  was  the  Skipper  just 
able  to  keep  his  feet  and  talkin'  to  Dal  Skinner, 

26 


The  Sail- Carriers 

who  was  to  the  wheel.  It  was  dark  enough,  but 
you  c'd  make  him  out  where  the  light  of  the  bin- 
nacle hit  on  his  wet  oil-skins.  Up  to  him  popped 
the  little  man  from  somewhere.  *  My  God,  but 
it's  a  wild  night,  ain't  it,  Captain?  '  says  he. 

"'Who  the  divil's  that?'  says  the  Skipper, 
and  he  peeks  along  the  deck  to  where  Jimmie  was 
hangin'  to  the  weather  rail.  After  takin'  another 
peek  and  seein'  who  it  was,  the  Skipper  don't  pay 
no  more  attention  to  him,  but  goes  on  talkin'  to 
Dal. 

11  '  I'm  thinkin','  says  the  Skipper,  •  that  it's 
moderatin'  a  bit  and  maybe  she'd  stand  the  stays'l 
pretty  soon.'  Jimmie,  I  guess,  was  listenin'  to 
that  and  couldn't  hold  in  any  longer.  ■  Oh, 
Captain,  Captain,'  says  he,  '  she's  fallin'  apart 
forward,'  and  tells  him  what  happened  in  the 
forec's'le.  '  How  long  you  been  sleepin'  for'ard?  ' 
asks  the  Skipper. 

"  '  Four  nights  now,'  says  Jimmie. 

u  '  Only  four  nights?  That's  it,  you're  not 
used  to  sleepin'  for'ard  yet.  You  mustn't  mind 
that.  They  all  used  to  think  that  at  first.  But 
Lord  bless  you,  don't  you  mind  that.  That's  just 
a  little  way  she  has.     She  don't  mean  any  harm.' 

"  '  But  Jerry  fell  through  his  bunk.' 

"  '  And  why  wouldn't  he  ?  sure  he  weighs  a 
ton.' 

27 


The  Sail-Carriers 

11  *  But,'  says  Jimmie,  *  she  pinched  my  oil- 
pants,  her  planks  opened  up  so  wide ! ' 

"  *  That  so  ?  And  what  size  oil-skins  do  you 
wear?  ' 

"  *  I  dunno,'  says  he — *  these  belong  to  Clancy.* 

"  *  There  it  is/  said  he,  '  Clancy's  a  big  man, 
and  your  oil-skins  are  too  loose.  Go  below  and 
see  if  you  can  find  some  that  are  four  sizes  small- 
er and  get  the  loan  of  'em.  Go  below  anyway/ 
says  he,  *  and  finish  your  mug-up.  You'll  feel 
better.' 

11  *  If  you  don't  mind,  Captain,'  says  he,  *  I'd 
rather  stay  on  deck  awhile — it's  safer,  I  think.' 

"  *  All  right,'  says  the  Skipper,  '  but  don't  get 
in  the  way.' 

11  He  hadn't  got  that  fair  out,  when  *  Hard 
down — hard  down  I '  comes  ravin'  from  the 
watch  for'ard.  *  Down,'  hollers  Dal,  and  the  Col- 
leen makes  a  shoot,  and  the  booms  start  to  come 
over.  And  just  then  the  Skipper  makes  a  jump 
for  the  waist  after  this  Jimmie  and  slings  him  out 
of  the  way  of  the  fore-boom.  He  saved  Jimmie 
from  having  his  head  split  open  and  knocked 
overboard  and  lost,  but  he  couldn't  save  himself. 
Even  a  man  like  Tom  O'Donnell  can't  sling  a 
man  out  of  the  way  on  a  wet  and  driving  deck 
with  one  hand  like  he  was  a  feather,  and  the  boom 
ketches  him  side  the  head  just  as  the  vessel  heels 

28 


The  Sail-Carriers 

down  again  on  the  other  tack  and  over  the  railing 
he  goes " 

u  Not  overboard,  Tommie !  " 

"  Yes,  overboard  and  into  the  black  sea,  and  me 
standing  by  couldn't  save  him  from  it.  I  jumped, 
but  he  was  gone,  and  over  on  the  other  side  the 
clumsy  ark  of  a  vessel  we  had  to  turn  out  for 
went  on  by.  The  watch  must've  been  asleep 
aboard  of  her.  I  stood  and  cursed  her  lights  as 
they  went  away  from  us.  Yes,  sir,  cursed  'em  out 
between  the  times  I  was  hollering  for  the  gang 
to  come  up. 

"  '  On  deck  everybody — all  hands  on  deck  I ' 
I  roars  it  loud's  I  could,  and  had  the  gripes 
slashed  off  the  nest  of  lee  dories  by  the  time  they 
came  up  flying. 

11 '  The  Skipper  is  gone,'  says  I — *  over  with  a 
dory !  '  and  we  had  one  over  in  no  time,  and  Jerry 
and  me  jumps  in — Jerry  in  his  stockin'  feet — and 
out  we  goes.  We  couldn't  sees  so  much  as  a  star 
in  the  sky,  if  there  was  one — not  even  the  white 
tops  of  the  seas — but  we  drove  her  out,  and  'twas 
all  we  could  do  to  keep  the  dory  from  capsizih' 
by  the  way.  *  To  looard ! '  I  says,  and  to  looard 
we  pushed  her,  and  then,  *  Hi,  the  Colleen  Bawnf 
On  your  lee  quarter.'  'Twas  the  Skipper's  voice. 
And  maybe  we  didn't  row !  But  'twas  one  thing  to 
hear  his  voice,  and  another  in  that  night  and  sea 

29 


The  Sail-Carriers 

and  blackness  to  find  him,  and  keep  the  dory  right 
side  up  at  the  same  time.  But  he  kept  singin'  out 
and  we  kept  drivin'  away,  and  at  last  we  got  him. 
A  hard  job  he  mustVe  had  trying  to  keep  afloat 
with  his  big  jack-boots  on,  and  everything  else 
on,  for  the  fifteen  minutes  or  more  it  took  us  to 
find  him. 

11  *  Lord ! '  says  he,  '  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
Paddling  like  a  porpoise  I've  been  since  I  went 
over  the  side.  But  drive  for  the  vessel — there's 
her  port  light — and  I'll  keep  bailin',  if  one  of 
ye'll  lend  me  your  sou'wester.' 

"  We  got  alongside,  and  the  Skipper  climbs 
over  the  rail.  *  Put  her  on  her  course  again,'  he 
says,  and  then  starts  to  go  below  to  overhaul  his 
head. 

"  And  then  Jimmie  Johnson  steps  up.  *  How'd 
it  come,  Captain,'  he  says,  '  you  fell  overboard?' 
By  the  light  from  the  cabin  gangway  the  Skipper 
sees  him,  and 

"  *  You  little — I  dunno  what — but  go  below. 
Take  him  for'ard,  somebody,'  he  says,  *  and  tie 
him  in  his  bunk,  or  give  him  laudanum  out  of 
the  medicine-chest,  afore  we  have  all  hands  lost 
tryin'  to  look  after  him.' 

"  Then  he  goes  below  to  fix  his  head  up — the 
side  of  his  head  was  laid  clean  open,  with  the 
blood  runnin'  scuppers  full  from  him. 

30 


The  Sail-Carriers 

11  '  Och,'  says  he,  '  but  'tis  a  great  pickle — salt 
water/  and  he  takes  an  old  cotton  shirt  and  tears 
it  up  and  wraps  it  'round  his  head,  and  goes  on 
deck  again." 

11  And  after  that  he  kept  her  comin'  just  the 
same,  Tommie?  " 

11  Just  the  same.  All  night  long  he  kept  her 
comin',  and  payin'  attention  to  nobody.  In  the 
early  mornin',  I  mind  we  passed  Josh  Bradley  in 
the  Tubal  Cain,  him  bangin'  along  with  a  busted 
fores'l,  remindin'  us  of  a  gull  with  a  broken  wing. 
We  passed  a  whole  fleet  of  old  plugs  anchored  off 
Highland  Light,  ripped  by  'em  roarin',  and  they 
lookin'  over  the  rails  at  the  Skipper,  his  head  all 
wrapped  up.  Imagine  her,  Peter,  with  her  four 
lowers  and  gaff  topsail,  and  the  wind  makin'  if 
anything.  And  then  what  should  happen  but  he 
made  out  the  Nannie  O  ahead.  '  'Tis  Tommie 
Ohlsen,'  he  says,  '  under  four  lowers.  We'll  chase 
him.'  But  Tommie  must've  seen  us,  for  soon 
we  saw  his  tops'l  break  out.  Then  we  sent  up 
the  stays'l,  and  then  Tommie  sent  up  his.  Then 
we  came  swingin'  round  the  Cape — and  I'd  like 
to  had  a  photograph  of  her  then — with  the  Skip- 
per standin'  between  house  and  rail  to  wind'ard, 
squeezin'  the  salt  water  out  of  his  beard,  and 
Jerry  below  singin' : 


3i 


The  Sail-Carriers 

•  What's  that  a-drivin'  in  from  sea, 
Like  a  ghost  from  out  the  dawn  ? 
And  who  but  Tom  O'Donnell 
And  his  flying  Colleen  Baton.1 

"  *  'Tis  fine  and  gay  they're  feelin','  says  the 
Skipper,  *  with  their  singin',  thinkin'  they'll  soon 
be  home.  In  a  minute,  now,  there'll  be  some- 
thing to  sing  about.  Look  at  what's  coming,' 
and  she  gets  it  fair  and  full.  And  it  was  too 
much  for  the  gang.  He  floats  them  all  out  be- 
low. From  fore  and  aft  they  comes  runnin'  up 
on  deck.  *  For  God's  sake,  Skipper,  what  is  it? ' 
says  they.  *  Don't  worry,'  says  the  Skipper,  '  'tis 
only  a  little  squall,  and  the  Nannie  O  ahead.' 
1  But  what're  we  goin'  to  do,  Skipper?  We  can't 
stay  below.'  *  Oh,  climb  on  the  weather-rail,' 
says  the  Skipper,  '  and  if  she  goes  over,  'tis  only 
a  mile  to  shore.'  And  then  the  face  of  little 
Jimmie !  !  My  God,  my  God — my  poor,  poor 
wife!'  he  says.  *  Whisht,  lad,  whisht,'  says  the 
Skipper,  patting  his  head,  *  'tis  to  your  wife  we're 
takin'  you,'  and  he  keeps  on  chasin'  the  Nannie  O 
across  the  bay." 

"And  then?" 

"And  then?  Why,  he  kept  her  goin'  across 
the  bay.  Half-way  home,  there  was  a  big  white 
steam  yacht  layin'  to  both  anchors.  She  was  big 
enough  to  tow  the   Colleen  ten  knots  an  hour. 

32 


The  Sail- Carriers 

*  You'd  think  it  was  banshees  we  was,  the  way 
they  look  out  from  between  the  lace  curtains,' 
says  the  Skipper,  and  we  rips  by  her  stern  like 
the  express  train  goin'  by  West  Gloucester 
station. 

"  A  little  while  after  that  we  overhauled  Eben 
Watkins.  Eben,  you  know,  used  to  brag  some 
about  that  vessel  of  his  one  time,  but  now  he 
was  under  a  storm  trys'l.  'Twas  kind  of  thick — 
we'd  lost  sight  of  the  Nannie — and  the  Skipper 
was  goin'  on  by  without  intendin'  to  say  anything, 
but  Eben  hails  him. 

"  *  Where  were  you  about  two  hours  ago  ?  ' 

"  *  Roundin'  the  Cape,'  says  the  Skipper. 

"  *  What  sail  d'y'  have  on  her?  ' 

"  *  What  she's  got  now.' 

"'Thatstays'l?' 

"  *  That  stays'l— yes.' 

"'  Get  that  squall?' 

"  '  Oh,  a  little  puff.' 

"  '  A  little  puff  ? '  says  Eben,  and  he  stretches 
his  head  at  us — *  a  little  puff.  And  how'd  she 
stand  it?' 

"  *  Just  wet  our  rail — just  wet  our  rail.' 

"  *  Go  to  hell ! '  says  Eben — *  just  wet  your 
rail.1  And  I  don't  blame  him,  for  the  Colleen 
was  down  to  her  hatches  then.  *  I  s'pose  Tommie 
Ohlsen  just  wet  his  rail  too,'  says  Eben.    *  All  we 

33 


The  Sail-Carriers 

could  see  of  him  goin'  by  a  while  ago  was  the 
weather-side  of  his  deck.' 

ii  t  >^js  Tommie  i'm  after/  hollers  back  the 
Skipper  and  gets  out  of  hearing. 

11 1  don't  know  whether  we  gained  or  lost  on 
the  Nannie  O,  but  we  carried  our  stays'l  every 
foot  of  the  way  from  Cape  Cod  to  Eastern  Point 
and  we  carried  into  the  harbor  just  the  same's 
we  came  across  the  bay.  Did  you  see  her  beatin' 
in  ?  No  ?  Well,  it  was  a  scandal.  Her  deck  was 
slidin'  back  and  forth  under  our  feet — we  could 
feel  it,  and  you've  seen  a  soap-box  with  the  top 
and  bottom  gone  floatin'  about  in  the  tide  ?  Yes  ? 
And  how  it  lengthens  out  sometimes  when  a  sea 
hits  it  broadside?  Well,  that's  the  way  the  Col- 
leen was  shiftin'  back  and  forth  comin'  in  the 
harbor.  She  was  that  loose  'twas  immoral.  '  She's 
ten  feet  longer  when  she  stretches  herself  real 
well,'  says  Jerry.  '  She  is  a  bit  loose,'  says  the 
Skipper,  '  but  she  sails  better  loose.  When  she 
lengthens  out  like  that,  she's  doin'  her  best 
reachinV 

"  And  that's  the  way  she  came  in.  When  we 
came  to  anchor  the  Skipper  went  into  her  peak 
with  a  lantern,  tryin'  to  find  out  what  it  was.  *  I 
think  she's  a  little  more  loose  than  ordinary  this 
trip,'  he  says — *  it  must  be  the  calkin'.  But  before 
he  got  through  he  discovered  that  it  was  her  iron 

34 


The  Sail- Carriers 

band  had  dropped  off  altogether.  And  then  it  was 
he  told  me  to  go  ashore  to  see  about  a  place  for 
her  on  the  railway.  And  I  guess  I'd  better  hurry 
along.  But  afore  we  go,  Peter,  just  a  little  touch 
to  the  Colleen  Bawn,  for  God  bless  her,  loose  as 
she  is,  there's  nothing  like  her  out  the  port." 

"  And  are  you  goin'  to  stay  on  her  and  she  like 
that?" 

"And  she  that  way?  And  why  not?  He's 
going  to  put  four-inch  joists  in  her  fore  and  aft 
this  time  on  the  railway,  and  then  she'll  be  all 
right.  She'll  leak  a  little  maybe,  but  what's  a 
little  leak?  And  anyway  I'd  rather  be  lost  in 
her  with  Tom  O'Donnell  than  live  a  thousand 
years  with  some.  And  so  here's  to  her,  Peter- 
boy.  One  thing,  you  know  you're  alive  on  her — 
and  here's  to  the  Colleen  Bawn" 

"  To  the  Colleen  Bawn,  Tommie,  and  I  don't 
know  but  what  you're  right." 

When  Peter  came  out  of  the  Anchorage  again, 
the  atmosphere  had  cleared.  The  blush  of  the 
sky  was  a  marvellous  thing  for  March.  Peter 
could  not  remember  when  he  had  ever  seen  so 
rosy  a  morning  for  that  time  of  year.  And  it 
was  a  fair  wind,  too — so  fair  that  Peter  could 
not  but  remark  it.  "  If  we  was  comin'  home  in 
the  Colleen  Bawn,  or  the  Nannie  O,  in  this  breeze, 
our  wake'd  be  fair  boilin'.     The  Colleen  Bawn 

35 


The  Sail-Carriers 

with  the  Irishman  aboard,  or  the  Nannie  O  with 
Tommie  Ohlsen — they'd  be  loggin'  fifteen  knots 
— yes,  and  sixteen  maybe."  He  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  and  for  twenty  fathoms  back  he  could 
see  the  smooth,  white  log-line  and  the  brass-bound 
log  whirling  like  mad.  It  was  a  rosy  morning, 
and  Peter  rolled  along  for  Crow's  Nest. 

Along  the  road  he  overhauled  Dexter  Warren, 
who  seemed  to  be  out  taking  the  air. 

"Seen  Jimmie  Johnson  yet,  Dexter?"  asked 
Peter. 

Dexter  took  a  hand  out  of  one  pocket  to 
gesture.  "  Jimmie  ?  Yes,  and  he's  crazy.  He 
came  up  the  wharf  like  a  ghost.  *  Hulloh,  what 
kind  of  a  trip'd  you  have,  Jimmie?'  I  asked, 
*  and  how  do  you  like  Captain  O'Donnell?' 

"  *  Yah,'  he  says,  *  your  oil-skins  is  too  loose.' 
4  What?'  I  hollers  after  him — he  goin'  up  the 
dock  like  a  streak.  *  Take  to  the  weather-rail — 
it's  only  a  mile  to  shore,'  he  waves  his  hand  and 
hollers  back  to  me.  And  then  his  wife  popped 
around  the  corner.  *  Jimmie ! '  says  she.  *  Jen- 
nie ! '  says  he,  and  in  a  second  it  was  all  off.  The 
pair  of  them  flew  up  the  dock  like  a  pair  of  gulls 
before  a  no'the-easter  and  I  picked  up  my  pots 
and  brushes  and  went  up  to  the  office  and  told 
the  old  man  that  I  guessed  I'd  quit." 

"And  did  you?" 

36 


The  Sail-Carriers 

"Did  I?  And  why  wouldn't  I?  Jimmie's 
job  is  waitin'  for  him  if  he  ain't  too  crazy  to 
take  it,  and  if  he  is  it  don't  matter  to  me. 
There's  my  glue-factory  job  the  first  of  the  month. 
1  Your  oil-skins  is  too  loose,'  says  he.  He  must 
be  crazy,  Peter — plumb  crazy." 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  when  the 
Colleen  Bawn  came  to  anchor.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon,  almost  dark,  and  Peter  was  fillin' 
his  last  pipe  at  Crow's  Nest,  when  the  Superba 
came  to  anchor  in  the  stream.  By  and  by  Dickie 
Mason  came  up  the  dock  and  hailed  for  "  twenty- 
five  thousand  haddock  and  ten  thousand  cod." 

"  Twenty-five  thousand  haddock  and  ten  thou- 
sand cod — aye,  aye.    Any  news?  " 

"Well,  yes;  and,  if  it  turns  out  to  be  true, 
it's  pretty  bad." 

"  That  so,  Captain?    What  is  it?  " 

"  I  think  we've  seen  the  last  of  the  Colleen 
Bawn  and  Tom  O'Donnell.  Last  night,  comin' 
on  dark,  he  left  us  on  Georges  for  a  short  cut 
across  the  shoals.  The  gale  hit  in  right  hard 
after,  and  I  guess  he's  gone — you  know  how  loose 
and  wracked  his  vessel  is — and  the  last  we  saw  of 
her  she  was  swung  out  and  goin'  before  it — all 
four  lowers,  and  a  livin'  gale.  She  couldn't  have 
lived  through  it.    We  swung  off  and  came  around. 

37 


The  Sail-Carriers 

We  drove  all  the  way  and  just  got  in.  It's  too 
bad  if  it  turns  out  to  be  so — though  maybe  he'll 
wiggle  home  in  spite  of  it.  Of  course,  he'd  get 
her  to  home  if  anybody  could,  but  you  know  them 
shoals  in  a  gale  and  how  loose  and  wracked  his 
vessel  was." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter.  He  leaned  over  the  taffrail 
of  Crow's  Nest  and  put  it  as  politely  as  he  could. 
"  Yes,  she's  loose  and  wracked,  Captain  Mason, 
but  there's  a  few  planks  of  her  left,  and  if  you 
was  up  here,  Captain  Mason,  and  could  look  over 
the  tops  of  buildings  same's  I  can,  you'd  see  her 
main  truck  stickin'  up  above  the  railway.  I  heard 
them  sayin'  she  left  the  same  time  your  vessel 
did,  but  she  got  home  so  long  ago,  Captain,  that 
her  fish  is  out  and  her  crew  got  their  money,  and 
if  you  was  to  drop  up  to  the  Anchorage  you'd 
probably  find  Tommie  Clancy  and  a  few  more  of 
her  gang  havin'  a  little  touch — and  maybe  they'll 
tell  you  how  they  did  it." 

Peter  spoke  with  some  moderation  while  his 
head  was  outside  and  his  voice  within  range  of  the 
astounded  master  of  the  Superba,  but  once  in- 
side, with  only  his  trusted  staff  to  testify,  he  gave 
vent  to  less  restrained  comment.  "  Them  young 
skippers,  and  some  of  them  late  models,  give  me 
a  pain  in  the  waist.  '  The  last  we  see  of  her,' 
says  he,  *  she  was  goin'  over  the  shoals,  and  you 

38 


The  Sail-Carriers 

know  how  loose  and  wracked  she  was,  Peter.'  And 
so  she  is.  But,  Lord!  I'd  like  to  told  him  she'd 
be  comin'  home  trips  yet  when  his  fancy  model'd 
be  layin'  to  an  anchor.  Lemme  see  now — tele- 
phone one  of  you  the  Superbcts  trip — twenty-five 
thousand  haddock  and  ten  thousand  cod.  And 
make  a  note  on  a  slate  of  the  Colleen  Bawn's  trip. 
She  don't  sail  for  the  firm,  but  I  do  like  to  keep 
track  of  her.  Forty  thousand  haddock  and  ten 
thousand  cod — loose  she  is,  and  her  deck  crawly 
under  your  feet,  and  they  have  to  wear  rubber 
boots  in  her  forehold,  when  Tom  O'Donnell 
starts  to  drive  her,  and  iron  bands  around  her 
for'ard  to  hold  her  together.  But,  Lord  I  she  was 
an  able  vessel  once — an  able  vessel  once.  I  think 
I'll  be  goin'  along  to  supper  pretty  soon — yes,  sir, 
an  able  vessel  was  the  Colleen  Bawn. 

"  '  What's  that  drivin'  in  from  sea, 

Like  a  ghost  from  out  the  dawn  ? 
And  who  but  Tom  O'Donnell 
And  the  flying  Colleen  Bawn.9 

M-m — the  flyin'  Colleen  Bawn" 

So  hummed  Peter,  and  closed  in  the  hatches  of 
Crow's  Nest  with  a  feeling  that  his  little  morning 
trip  along  the  water  front  had  not  been  without 
its  reward. 


39 


THE  WICKED  "CELESTINE" 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

SAILING  out  of  Boston  is  a  fleet  of  fishing 
schooners  that  for  beauty  of  model,  and 
speed,  and  stanchness  in  heavy  weather  are  not 
to  be  surpassed — their  near  admirers  say  equalled 
— by  any  class  of  vessels  that  sail  the  seas;  and, 
saying  that,  they  do  not  bar  the  famous  fleet  of 
Gloucester. 

This  Boston  fleet  is  manned  by  a  cosmopolitan 
lot,  who  are  all  very  proud  of  their  vessels,  par- 
ticularly of  their  sailing  qualities.  Good  seamen 
all — some  beyond  compare — Irishmen  still  with 
the  beguiling  brogue  of  the  south  and  west  coun- 
ties, Yankees  from  Maine  and  Massachusetts, 
Portuguese  from  the  Azores,  with  a  strong  in- 
fusion of  Nova  Scotians  and  Newfoundlanders, 
and  scattering  French,  English  and  Scandinavians. 

No  class  of  men  afloat  worry  less  about  heavy 
weather  than  do  these  men;  nowhere  will  you  find 
men  more  deeply  versed  in  the  ways  of  vessels  or 
quicker  to  meet  an  emergency;  none  will  carry 
sail  longer,  or,  if  out  in  a  dory,  will  hang  on  to 
their  trawls  longer  if  it  comes  to  blow,  or  the  fog 

43 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

settles,  or  the  sea  kicks  up.     In  the  matter  of 
courage,  endurance  and  skill,  they  are  the  limit. 

The  standard  for  this  superb  little  navy  was 
first  raised  by  a  lot  of  men  of  Irish  blood,  from 
Galway  and  Waterford  originally,  who  chose 
this  most  hazardous  way  to  make  a  living — and 
in  other  days,  with  the  old-class  vessels,  it  was 
terribly  hazardous — who  chose  his  life,  tender- 
hearted men  and  men  of  family  though  most  of 
them  were,  in  preference  to  taking  orders  from 
uncongenial  peoples  ashore. 

They  are  still  there,  an  unassuming  lot  of  ad- 
venturers taking  the  most  desperate  chances  in  the 
calmest  way — great  shipmates  all,  tenderness  em- 
bodied and  greatness  of  soul  beyond  estimation. 
And  it  was  one  of  the  best  known  of  them,  a 
dauntless  little  Irish-born,  who,  squaring  his  shoul- 
ders and  swinging  his  arms,  spat  right  and  left 
and  moved  up  the  dock  to  a  hail  of  salutations 
this  beautiful  winter  morning.  "  Good-morning, 
Captain,"  and  "How  are  you,  Coleman?  "  and 
"  Are  you  to  take  the  new  one  this  trip,  Skipper?  " 
All  this,  and  more,  as  Captain  Coleman  Joyce,  not 
above  five  feet  in  height  nor  a  hundred  and  thirty 
pounds  in  weight,  but  of  a  port  to  subdue  Pata- 
gonians  seven  feet  high,  as  with  a  beard  that  curled 
and  shoulders  that  heaved  he  rolled  gloriously  up 
the  dock. 

44 


The  Wicked   "Celestine" 

An  abstemious  man  was  Captain  Joyce;  but 
there  were  times  and  circumstances,  say  now,  for 
instance,  when  before  casting  off  for  a  haddock- 
ing  trip  to  Georges  Banks  it  became  necessary  to 
consummate  one  of  the  rites  without  which  no 
man  could  conceive  a  fishing  trip  to  be  lucky. 
These  rites,  incidentally,  were  two:  One  con- 
sisted of  taking  a  good  drink  before  going  out; 
the  other  was  to  take  a  good  drink  after  getting 
in.    Simple,  but  not  to  be  overlooked. 

And  now,  when,  after  a  beat  up  Atlantic 
Avenue  to  the  saloon  that  is  nearest  the  south  side 
of  the  wharf,  Coleman  found  himself  leaning 
against  the  bar  and  looking  at  the  barkeeper,  that 
suave  party,  without  further  orders,  set  before 
him  a  small  glass  of  water  and  a  small  glass  empty 
and  the  same  old  bottle  with  the  horse  and  rider 
on  the  outside. 

Raising  his  filled  glass,  and  absent-mindedly 
looking  about  him  by  the  way,  Captain  Joyce  ob- 
served that  it  was  a  wistful  crowd  which  was 
watching  him.  It  was  always  a  wistful  crowd. 
He  nodded  amiably  to  four  or  five,  but  gazed 
vacantly  at  the  others.  All  told,  there  must  have 
been  twenty  loafers  in  the  place,  and  everyone 
undeniably  thirsty,  with  a  thirst  that  was  im- 
measurably intensified  by  the  sight  of  this  success- 
ful skipper  preparing  to  take  a  drink. 

45 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

Coleman,  regarding  them  again,  pulled  out  an 
old  wallet  and  from  it  took  a  five-dollar  bill. 
Every  pair  of  expectant  eyes  in  the  place  saw  the 
V  on  the  bill.  Plainly,  too,  he  was  not  trying  to 
hide  it.  A  symphony  of  short,  hacking  coughs 
foretold  clogged  throats  clearing  for  action — 
Captain  Joyce  always  was  free  with  his  money. 
Following  the  bill,  but  only  after  a  lot  of  digging 
about  with  his  fingers,  Captain  Joyce  extricated  a 
silver  coin — a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  they  saw. 
Coleman  held  it  up  to  his  eyes  that  he  might  the 
better  see  it.  Nobody,  looking  at  those  eyes  of 
his,  would  ever  suspect  that  they  were  weak.  He 
put  back  the  bill,  restrapped  the  wallet,  replaced 
it  in  his  pocket,  laid  the  quarter  on  the  bar,  and 
took  his  drink,  first  the  whiskey,  then  the  water, 
and  both  rapidly,  as  a  man  of  action  should. 

Smacking  his  lips  and  regarding  the  change  on 
the  bar — a  dime  and  a  nickel — at  the  same  time 
casting  a  sly  glance  at  the  barkeeper,  he  beckoned 
with  his  hand  over  his  shoulder,  but  without  look- 
ing around.  "  Let  ye  all  come  up,"  he  said,  and 
bolted  for  the  door  to  escape  the  rush. 

Outside  the  door  of  the  saloon  he  was  hailed 
by  a  shore-going  friend,  once  a  fisherman,  but  now 
a  grocer,  whose  chief  income  arose  from  provi- 
sioning fishing  vessels,  and  so  one  who  kept  up 
with  all  the  gossip  of  the  fleet.    "  Hello,  Captain 

46 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

Joyce!  What's  this  they're  telling  me  about 
you  having  a  new  vessel — a  new  style  model, 
too." 

"  It's  the  truth." 

"  And  given  up  the  Maggie — that  was  built 
for  you — that  I  heard  you  say  a  hundred  times 
was  not  a  bad  sailer  at  all  and  the  ablest  vessel 
of  her  tonnage  that  ever  sailed  past  Boston 
Light?" 

"  Yes,  or  past  any  other  light.  She's  that  and 
more.  But  Lord  bless  you,  she  can't  sail  with 
some  of  the  new  ones,  and  I'm  tired  to  my  soul 
of  havin'  every  blessed  model  of  a  fisherman  that 
was  ever  launched  comin'  up  on  my  quarter  and 
goin'  by  like  I  was  an  old  sander.  This  last  time 
who  was  it,  d'y'  think?  You'd  never  guess. 
Name  every  vessel  that  ever  sailed  out  of  T  Dock 
and  she'd  be  the  last  you  or  any  other  man'd 
name.  Who  but  the  Bonita — yes.  The  black- 
whiskered  divil,  Portugee  Joe,  yes — with  the 
rings  in  his  ears.  Faith,  an'  had  I  hold  of  him 
when  he  said  it,  'tis  in  his  nose  he'd  be  wearin' 
them.  '  Captain  Joyce,'  he  hails,  and  the  bloody 
Dago  he  can't  talk  United  States  yet — '  Captain 
Joyce,  what  you  carry,  hah? — breeks  or  gran-eet 
or  what  ? '  Gran-eet,  mind  ye,  with  the  Western 
Islands  brogue  of  him!  Yes,  and  goes  on  by  the 
same's   if   the   Maggie  was    r'ally    loaded    with 

47. 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

granite.  '  By  the  Lord,'  I  calls  out  after  him,  '  but 
the  next  time  you  and  me  try  tacks  I'll  make  a 
wake  for  you  to  steer  by  or  I'll  know  why/  And 
I've  got  a  vessel  now,  b'y,  a  vessel  that  can  sail 
or  I  don't  know  fast  lines  when  I  see  them.  And 
the  Portugee  he's  just  gone  down  the  harbor — 
he'll  be  waitin'  for  me  outside  the  lightship,  he 
says.    So  I'm  off." 

Captain  Joyce  journeyed  on  and,  standing  on 
the  cap-log  at  the  end  of  the  wharf,  he  looked 
down  on  his  new  vessel  and  his  eyes  shone  with 
joy  in  the  sheer  beauty  of  her.  "  Purty,  purty, 
purty,"  he  murmured;  "  just  like  she  was  whittled 
out  of  a  block."  And,  turning  to  a  man  who  was 
taking  his  bag  ashore,  the  last  man  of  the  old 
gang  to  leave  her,  he  inquired,  u  She  can  sail, 
they  tell  me,  this  one?" 

"  Oh,  she  can  sail  all  right." 

"And  how  does  she  handle?" 

"  Handle  ?  She's  that  quick  in  stays  that  you 
want  to  watch  her." 

"  Watch  her,  eh?    And  stiff  is  she?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  One  day  we  used 
to  think  she  was  a  house,  but  again  she'd  roll 
down  in  a  twelve-knot  breeze,  and  in  a  way  to 
make  your  hair  curl." 

"  Man  alive !  But  whisper,  was  that  why 
Jimmie  Eliot  gave  her  up?" 

48 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  He  wouldn't  say, 
the  Skipper  wouldn't." 

"  And  that's  queer,  too,  come  to  think." 

"  It  do  look  queer,  but  maybe  he  thought  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  owners." 

"  'Tis  the  divil  and  all  of  a  mystery.  And 
where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  Went  to  Gloucester  last  night." 

u  That's  too  bad.  When  another  man's  been 
in  a  vessel  I  gen'rally  likes  to  get  his  notions  of 
her  myself.  You  can't  tell  a  vessel  by  just  lookin' 
at  her — you  have  to  be  in  her  a  while.  Well, 
whatever  she  is,  we'll  put  out  in  her  now.  Let 
ye  hoist  the  mains'l,  b'ys,  and  we'll  go.  Portu- 
gee  Joe  is  waitin'  for  us  below." 

Captain  Joyce  and  his  able  crew  put  out  from 
the  dock  and  a  great  crowd  lined  the  cap-log 
to  see  her  off.  Down  the  harbor  she  went,  creep- 
ing before  the  light  westerly  as  if  she  had  a 
propeller  hidden  somewhere  below. 

Captain  Joyce  and  his  old  friend  Jerry  Con- 
nors looked  her  up  and  looked  her  down. 

"  I  say,  Jerry,  but  did  ever  y'  see  anny thing 
scoot  like  her — hardly  a  breath  and  she  goin' 
along  like  she  is.  It's  not  right,  Jerry — hardly 
a  ripple  in  her  wake." 

"  Oh,  you've  been  so  long  in  the  old  Maggie, 
Skipper " 

49 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

"The  old  Maggie,  is  it?  She's  not  too  old — 
ten  year." 

11  I  know.  Ten  year  is  nothing  in  a  good  ves- 
sel, but  they  been  improving  them  so  fast.  Last 
fall,  the  trip  you  didn't  wait  for  me,  you  know, 
I  went  in  the  Jennie  and  Katie.  Y'oughter  seen 
her  skipper.  Handle?  Like  a  little  naphtha 
launch  to  pick  up  dories.  And  sail?  Man,  but 
she  could  sail!  " 

"That  so?  And  how'd  she  behave  in  heavy 
weather?  " 

"  Well,  we  didn't  have  any  heavy  weather  that 
trip." 

"No  breeze  at  all?" 

"  Well,  one  day  it  did  breeze  up.  We  had  her 
under  a  balanced  reef  mains'l.  She  did  slap 
around  a  bit.  'Twas  the  devil  and  all  to  stay  in 
your  bunk,  but  she  did  pretty  well.  But  you 
mustn't  get  'em  out  of  trim.  The  first  two  dory- 
loads  of  fish  that  came  aboard  that  trip  was 
pitched  into  her  after-pens  and,  man,  she  reared 
right  up  in  the  air — right  straight  up  on  her  hind 
legs  and  began  to  claw  out  with  her  fore  feet 
like  she  was  trying  to  climb  up  a  wall " 

"  You'd  think  'twas  a  horse  you  were  talkin' 
about,  Jerry.     But  she  could  sail,  you  say?  " 

"  Sail?     Like  a  plank  on  edge — and  greased." 

"  Well,  this  one  can  sail,  too.  Look  at  her. 
50 


The  Wicked   "Celestine" 

Not  a  blessed  hop  out  of  her — just  smoochin' 
along  like  a  girl  slidin'  on  ice  ashore,  isn't 
she?" 

Off  the  lightship  they  found  the  Bonita. 
11  There  he  is,"  announced  Coleman,  "  with  his 
rings  in  his  ears.  Keep  her  as  she  is  till  the  pair 
of  us  come  together.  Trip  afore  last  he  sailed 
a  couple  of  rings  around  the  Maggie  by  way  of 
amusin'  himself,  but  I'll  amuse  him  now  or  I'll 
tear  the  sail  off  this  one." 

In  a  freshening  breeze  and  both  vessels  soon 
swinging  all  they  had,  it  was  a  good  chance  for  a 
try-out.  Four  hours  of  that  and  the  victory  went 
to  the  handsome  Celestine,  for  off  Cape  Cod, 
after  a  run  of  fifty  miles,  Coleman  had  the  Bonita 
two  miles  to  leeward. 

For  an  hour  after  that  Coleman  could  hardly 
be  coaxed  down  to  eat.  Standing  on  the  Celes- 
tine's  quarter,  he  chuckled,  and  chuckled,  and 
chuckled.  Even  after  taking  his  place  at  the 
table,  he  had  to  climb  up  the  companionway  to 
have  one  more  look  at  the  beaten  Bonita.  "  A 
good  vessel  for  rip-fishin'  the  Portugee's  got — 
she  drifts  well,"  he  said,  "  and  maybe  'tis  me 
won't  tell  him  next  time  we  meet." 

And  yet  in  the  middle  of  the  meal  he  sud- 
denly set  down  his  mug  of  coffee  and  leaned 
across  the   table.      "  Don't  it  strike  you,   Jerry, 

5i 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

that  for  a  vessel  of  her  model  this  one  is  the  divil 
for  stiffness?  " 

"  We  were  saying  among  ourselves  a  little 
while  ago,  Skipper,  that  we  never  before  saw  a 
vessel  that  barely  wet  her  scuppers  in  a  breeze 
like  this." 

"  That's  it — I  don't  know  what  it  is.  But  she's 
a  queer  divil  altogether.  Sometimes  when  she 
luffs  she  fetches  up  in  a  way  to  shake  every  tooth 
in  your  head.  And  there  was  what  one  of  the 
men  that  was  in  her  last  trip  said  of  her." 

"And  what  did  he  say,  Skipper?" 

14  He  said — but  come  to  think,  he  didn't  say 
anything,  and  that's  the  divil  of  it.  One  or  two 
little  outs  in  a  vessel,  if  you  know  what  they  are, 
aren't  always  a  great  harm.  But  when  you  don't 
know  how  to  take  her  I  " 

The  crew  agreed  with  their  Skipper  that  there 
was  something  queer  about  this  new  vessel  of 
theirs,  but  no  illuminating  discussion  came  of  it 
until  next  morning  when,  having  cleared  the  north 
shoal  of  Georges,  it  became  necessary  to  head 
southward. 

Heading  to  the  east'ard  in  a  southerly  breeze, 
she  had  been  on  the  starboard  tack  up  to  that 
time.  Now  her  helmsman  shot  her  head  across 
the  wind,  her  sails  shook,  shivered,  her  booms 
began  to  swing,  and  over  on  the  port  tack  went 

52 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

the  Celestine.  Everybody  looked  to  see  her  roll 
down  some,  but  in  that  breeze — they  hadn't  even 
taken  their  stays'l  in — nobody  looked  to  see  her 
do  what  she  did.  Least  of  all  her  Skipper,  who, 
standing  carelessly  by  the  starboard  rail,  would 
have  gone  overboard  and  been  lost  probably,  but 
for  Jerry  Connors.  ' 

"  Wheel  down !  wheel  down !  "  roared  Jerry, 
and  hauled  the  Skipper  back  aboard. 

"Down  it  is!" 
Cripes!  "  said  the  Skipper  when  he  found  his 
breath — "  cripes,  but  she's  left-handed." 

"  Left-handed?  " 

"  Yes,  and  double  left-handed,  the  cross-eyed 
whelp!  Just  barely  put  her  scuppers  under  on 
one  tack  and  down  to  her  hatches  on  the  other. 
Man  alive,  but  if  we  have  to  put  her  on  the  wrong 
tack  makin'  a  passage,  what'll  we  ever  do  with 
her?  Put  her  back,  put  her  back — back  on  the 
other  tack  with  her  and  keep  her  there  till  we  get 
some  sail  off  her.  Man,  man,  but  when  we  have 
to  put  a  vessel  under  her  four  lowers  in  a  little 
breeze  like  this " 

They  kept  her  so  until  next  morning,  when  they 
hove  her  to — they  had  to  heave  her  to — with 
Georges  north  shoal  bearing  twenty-three  miles 
west  by  north  and  a  howling  gale  in  prospect. 
With  the  glass  showing  a  scant  29  and  the  sea 

53 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

coming  to  them  in  a  long  swell,  they  all  foresaw 
a  good  lay-off  with  a  chance  to  catch  up  on  sleep 
or  read  up,  or  overhaul  their  gear. 

The  storm  hit  in  hard  that  night.  A  north- 
easter it  was,  with  a  thick  snow  in  its  wake  and 
a  whistle  that  made  a  bunk  feel  most  comfortable. 
The  snow  passed,  and  after  two  days  the  worst 
of  the  breeze  also;  but  after  it  came  the  tremen- 
dous seas  that  make  such  a  terrible  place  of  the 
northerly  edge  of  Georges  shoals  in  the  wrong 
kind  of  winter  weather. 

Nobody  aboard  the  Celestine  worried  particu- 
larly. They  had  been  having  that  sort  of  thing 
all  their  lives.  After  a  while  it  would  pass.  Only 
when  it  lasted  for  too  long  a  time  it  did  make 
slow  fishing.  They  put  her  under  jumbo  and  rid- 
ing sail  and  let  go  their  chain  anchor.  Next  day 
they  took  sail  off  her  altogether  and  made  ready 
their  hawser  and  big  anchor.  Under  both  an- 
chors, if  it  came  to  that,  she  certainly  would  be 
safe. 

This  gale  was  some  time  in  passing.  And  now 
it  was  coming  on  evening  of  the  fourth  day — two 
days  of  a  heavy  breeze  and  two  days  of  the  great 
seas.  All  the  men,  excepting  the  watch,  were 
below,  about  half  for'ard  and  half  aft,  those 
forward  mugging-up  or  overhauling  trawls,  those 
aft  listening  to  Jerry   Connors,   a   great   reader, 

54 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

who  was  now  reeling  off  a  most  interesting  story 
with  dramatic  emphasis.  It  was  the  "  Cloister  and 
the  Hearth,"  and  Gerald  was  up  in  the  tree  with 
the  bear  after  him — the  Celestine  dancing  like  a 
lead-ballasted  cork  figure  all  the  while.  In  the 
middle  of  it  all  the  watch  hailed  something  from 
deck.  The  Skipper,  trying  to  keep  from  sliding 
off  the  locker  and,  at  the  same  time,  above  the 
howling  of  the  wind  get  what  Jerry  was  reading, 
grew  wrathy  at  the  interruption. 

"  What's  that  ballyhooin'  on  deck — whose 
watch?" 

One  had  risen,  and  now  from  the  companion 
steps,  his  head  above  the  slide,  passed  on  the 
word.     "  It's  John's." 

uOh,  John  is  it?  Don't  mind  John — the 
least  thing  worries  John.  But  what  was  he 
sayin'?" 

u  He  says  there's  some  big  seas  coming,  and 
getting  bigger  all  the  time;  and  true  enough,  they 
are." 

"Big  seas,  is  it?  Cripes,  a  man  don't  need 
to  stand  watch  on  deck  or  stick  his  head  out  of 
the  hatch,  like  a  turkey  in  a  crate,  to  find  that 
out." 

"  Big  seas  coming  aboard,  he  says,  and  hadn't 
we  better  make  ready  to  put  out  the  big  anchor, 
she  being  on  her  weak  tack?  " 

55 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

"  Her  weak  side !  That's  so — maybe  we  had. 
Tell  him  yes  and  call  the  gang  for'ard.  Now 
go  on,  Jerry,  whilst  we're  waitin'.  What  did 
that  divil  of  a  bear  do  then?"  The  Skipper 
leaned  forward  from  the  locker.  "What  did  he 
do?    Hurry  on,  Jerry-boy." 

"  And  then  he — "  recommenced  Jerry,  but 
got  no  further.  A  scurry  of  boots  was  heard  on 
deck,  a  quick  slamming  back  of  the  slide,  and 
down  the  companionway  came  John.  Feet  first 
he  came  flying  and  hauled  the  slide  after  him. 
"  Here's  one  big  as  a  church  and " 

That  was  all  he  got  out  when  the  sea  struck. 
Over  went  the  Celestine — over,  over — the  Skip- 
per was  shot  from  the  locker  through  the  open 
door  of  his  stateroom  across  the  cabin.  Jerry, 
who  had  been  sitting  by  the  stove,  was  shot  into 
that  same  room  ahead  of  the  Skipper.  Another, 
lying  comfortably  in  his  bunk  to  windward,  was 
thrown  clear  across  the  cabin  and  into  the  opposite 
bunk  on  the  lee  side,  and  his  bedding  followed 
him  and  covered  him  up.  Another  of  the  crew, 
doubled  up  in  the  after  windward  bunk,  was  sent 
past  the  lazarette  and  in  on  top  of  his  neighbor, 
who  had  a  moment  before  been  comfortably  lying 
in  his  bunk  to  leeward,  passing  the  time  of  day 
with  a  pleasant  word  and  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 
The  bedding  also  followed  that  man.    Everything 

56 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

loose  went  from  the  windward  bunks  to  the  lee 
bunks — from  the  whole  windward  side  to  the 
lee  side. 

The  vessel  poised  so  for  perhaps  ten  seconds, 
while  men  called  one  to  another.  "  What's 
it?  "  "  Are  you  hurted,  Joe  ?  "  "  God  help  us— 
what  in  the  divil's  this?  "  "  What  in  the  devil's 
name — "  "  Man,  let  me  up — 'tis  smothered  I 
am !  "  Cries  of  surprise  and  cries  of  consterna- 
tion, while  through  it  all  the  Celestine  seemed 
balanced  between  going  down  for  good  and  never 
coming  up  at  all.  The  wall-lamp  flared  and  then 
started  to  blaze.  It  looked  like  a  possible  fire  to 
add  to  the  rest  of  it,  but  the  Skipper,  like  a  flash, 
threw  a  smothering  wet  oil-jacket  over  it.  The 
binnacle  lamp  then  started,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment— suddenly  went  out,  and  then  for  the  first 
time  they  heard  the  rush  of  the  sea  coming  on 
them  in  the  dark. 

"  Did  you  think  to  draw  the  slide  tight, 
John  ?  "  bellowed  the  Skipper. 

"  Tight?    'Tis  tighter  than  the  lid  of  hell." 

"Then  somebody  must've  left  the  binnacle 
slide  open — there's  men  without  sense  to  be  found 
wherever  you  go — you  can't  dodge  them." 

A  short  space  of  that,  and  she  rolled  part  way 
back.  "  Up  she  comes,"  said  the  Skipper — 
"  'tisn't  in  nature  she  won't  come — she's  got  to 

57 


The  Wicked   "Celestine" 

come  up  soon  or  go  down  entirely."  And  it  did 
seem  as  if  she  was  coming  up,  but  the  next  big 
sea  hit  her — bigger  than  the  one  that  had  hove 
her  down.  Down  inside  the  Celestine  they  never 
quite  agreed  on  what  happened.  They  knew  that 
for  a  moment  or  two  they  were  standing  on  the 
roof  of  the  cabin,  that  the  red-hot  cover  fell  off 
the  stove  and  hit  that  same  roof,  that  the  hot 
coals  fell  out  of  the  stove  and  began  to  sizzle 
among  the  loose  bedding.  They  knew,  too,  that 
in  the  middle  of  it  all  John's  voice  was  heard  ex- 
claiming, "  Oh,  my  poor  wife !  "  and  again,  "  O 
God,  O  God,  we're  lost !  "  and  that  the  Skipper 
said,  "  Hush  up  your  caterwauling — we're  a  long 
way  from  bein'  lost  yet,"  even  while  the  loose  bed- 
ding began  to  take  fire  and  blaze  up. 

Then  all  at  once  she  righted,  and  so  suddenly 
that  they  were  thrown  one  against  the  other, 
across  the  floor  and  back  again.  And  Jerry  Con- 
nors became  entangled  in  a  tub  of  trawls  that 
somebody  had  been  overhauling.  Six  hundred 
hooks,  every  hook  attached  to  three  feet  of  gang- 
ing, and  the  whole  hanging  to  two  thousand  feet 
of  line — it  was  an  awful  mess  to  get  mixed  up 
with  at  a  time  like  that.  Twenty  hooks  at  least 
were  sticking  in  him  here  and  there,  and  Jerry 
swore  prodigiously. 

They    smothered   the    fire    with    blankets   and 

58 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

old  clothes  and  lit  the  lamp  again.  That  done, 
they  noted  that  the  print  of  the  red-hot  stove 
cover  had  been  left  on  the  roof  of  the  cabin,  show- 
ing that  the  vessel  had  been  keel  up.  "  D'  y' 
s'pose  she  went  clean  over  and  over,  or  did  she 
go  half-way  and  back  again,  Jerry?"  was  the 
first  inquiry  of  the  Skipper  when  the  lamp  was  lit. 

"  In  God's  name,  wait  till  I  get  some  of  these 
hooks  out  of  me — they're  into  me  gizzards,  some 
of  them." 

Up  on  deck  they  met  the  gang  coming  out  of 
the  forec's'le,  the  cook  in  the  lead. 

"  How  was  it  for'ard?  "  asked  the  Skipper. 

"  I  was  lying  in  my  bunk  to  looard,"  began  the 
cook,  "  and  Jack  was  in  his  bunk  to  wind'ard  just 
opposite.  Jack  was  playing  with  the  cat.  Well, 
sir,  when  she  went  over  I  forgot  the  cat,  but 
through  the  air  came  this  great  black  thing  with 
forty  claws  and  fourteen  green  and  yellow  eyes  and 
got  me  by  the  hair,  and  Jack  with  his  two  hun- 
dred pound  weight  on  top  of  him  again.  And 
the  cat  gets  his  claws  in  among  me  whiskers " 

"  Shut  up !  "  roared  the  Skipper — "  you  and 
the  cat  and  your  whiskers.  Is  anybody  gone? 
Who  was  on  watch  with  you,  John?" 

"  Mattie." 

"  Is  he  here  now?  " 

"  Here,  Skipper,"  responded  Mattie  for  him- 
59 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

self.  "  When  John  dove  for  the  cabin  I  dove  for 
the  forec's'le.    I  didn't  lose  no  time." 

"  I'll  bet  you  didn't,  if  you  came  down  red- 
jacks  first  the  way  John  Houlihan  did.  Well, 
that's  all  right,  then.  Let's  see  what's  left  on 
deck.  Get  up  a  few  torches — and  have  a  care 
some  of  you  aren't  washed  overboard." 

Nothing  was  left  on  deck.  The  spars  had  been 
torn  out  when  she  went  over  and  were  now  lying 
alongside  threatening  to  punch  holes  in  her  side 
as  they  lifted  and  dropped  to  every  big  sea.  The 
Skipper  took  the  big  axe  and  the  cook  his  hatchet, 
and  others  got  out  their  bait  knives,  and  all  began 
to  chop  and  hack  and  cut  until  the  wreckage  of 
the  spars  was  clear  of  the  vessel. 

Then  they  took  a  further  look.  Dories  were 
gone,  booby  hatches  were  gone,  the  rail  was  gone. 
Only  the  stanchions  sticking  up  above  the  deck 
showed  where  the  rail  had  been.  But  the  wonder- 
ful thing  was  yet  to  appear.  Going  forward,  the 
Skipper  noticed  a  turn  of  chain  around  the  ves- 
sel's bow.  He  looked  again — and  again.  When 
he  had  satisfied  himself  he  thoughtfully  combed 
his  beard. 

"  Forty  winters  I've  been  comin'  to  Georges, 
and  this  is  the  first  time  ever  I  see  that.  There'll 
be  people  that'll  say  it  never  happened — that  it 
couldn't  have  happened.     But  there's  the  cable 

60 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

around  her  bows,  a  full  turn,  to  prove  she  went 
clean  over — down  one  side  and  up  the  other. 
We're  blessed  lucky  to  be  alive,  that's  what  I 
say." 

"  That's  what  we  are,"  affirmed  Jerry,  and  had 
another  look  for  himself.  And  they  all  had 
another  look  for  themselves.  "  Blessed  lucky," 
they  all  agreed.  °  And  what'll  we  do  now, 
Skipper?" 

"  Do?  "  He  looked  around  and  saw  only  the 
stumps  of  masts  projecting  above  her  deck — no 
sails,  no  rigging,  nothing.  The  bowsprit,  even, 
was  gone  and  their  chain  parted — and  the  north 
shoal  of  Georges  bearing  twenty  miles  to  leeward. 
"  Give  her  the  other  anchor,  and  whilst  we're 
layin'  to  that  we'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

That  night  they  hung  grimly  on  to  the  other 
anchor.  In  the  morning  the  Skipper  chewed  it 
over.  "We  can't  lay  here  forever — that's  cer- 
tain. We  must  try  and  get  her  out.  I  don't  like 
that  shoal  to  looard.  With  this  one  there's  no 
tellin'  what  she'll  take  it  into  her  head  to  do — to 
go  adrift  maybe,  and  then  it's  all  swallowed  up 
we'll  be  in  short  order." 

So  they  prepared  to  work  her  out.  For  masts 
they  could  do  no  better  than  take  the  pen-boards 
out  of  the  hold,  split  them  up  and  fish  them  to- 
gether.    They  were  of  two-inch  stock,  and  when 

61 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

they  had  used  them  all  up  they  made  but  sorry- 
looking  spars.  For  sails  they  shook  the  bedding 
out  of  their  mattresses,  took  the  ticking  and  their 
blankets  and  sewed  them  together  with  pieces  of 
oilskins  by  way  of  patchings.  There  was  some 
record-breaking  sewing  aboard  the  Celestine  that 
morning,  for  all  were  thinking  of  the  shoal  under 
their  lee. 

They  set  up  the  pen-boards  by  way  of  masts, 
laced  the  bedding  and  blankets  to  them  for  sails, 
and  then  they  had  it — a  medley  of  colors!  Blue 
and  white  striped  ticks,  green  and  gold  and  red 
blankets — the  masterpieces  of  fond  wives  ashore 
— and  two  crazy-quilts.  One  particular  crazy- 
quilt  the  Skipper  eyed  with  regret.  u  I  mind  the 
night  the  wife  won  that  at  the  church  fair.  A 
hundred  and  fourteen  chances  she  took — at  ten 
cents  a  chance — me  payin'  for  them.  Nine  hun- 
dred and  ninety-nine  pieces  in  it.  *  There'll  be 
the  fine  ornament  for  your  bunk,  Colie,'  says  she 
to  me.  *  And  warm,  too,'  she  says,  *  on  a  win- 
ter's day.'  'Tis  tears  she'd  be  sheddin'  could  she 
see  it  this  winter's  day,  usin'  it  by  way  of  a  cloth 
to  a  fores' 1  up  where  the  single  reef  cringle 
should  be." 

They  spread  them  all  at  last,  brought  her 
head  to  and  warped  in  the  anchor.  "  And  now, 
you    slippery-elm    divil,    sail!      Sail,    you    black, 

62 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

fatherless,  left-handed,  double  left-handed  divil, 
sail!" 

She  did  sail,  after  a  fashion.  She  did  not  go 
along  like  the  saucy  vessel  that  had  put  out  from 
T  Dock  less  than  a  week  before,  not  quite  like  a 
greased  plank  on  edge  or  a  girl  sliding  on  ice, 
but  she  made  headway.  It  was  heart-breaking 
headway  that  promised  to  make  a  long  voyage 
of  the  something  like  two  hundred  miles  to  Bos- 
ton, but  the  crew  had  hopes — if  the  wind  stayed 
to  the  eastward. 

But  the  wind  did  not  stay  to  the  east'ard. 
After  two  days  it  hauled  to  the  north-west,  and 
they  had  to  tack.  They  tacked  to  the  north  and 
they  tacked  to  the  south,  always  with  a  respectful 
eye  to  her  weak  side ;  but  it  was  slow  work.  More, 
it  was  cold,  and  the  seas  that  came  aboard  iced 
her  up.  And,  having  no  rails  to  her,  the  crew 
had  to  be  painfully  careful  or  they  would  slide 
overboard. 

"  And  yet  no  great  danger  bein'  lost,  for  even 
with  oilskins  a  man  could  swim  as  fast  as  this 
one's  sailin'.  But  it's  so  blessed  cold  1  "  said 
Jerry. 

They  were  sighted  several  times  and  other  ves- 
sels bore  down,  but  the  Skipper  waved  them  off. 
"  If  they  think  because  we're  short  on  sails  and 
spars  they're  goin'  to  get  salvage  out  of  this  one, 

63 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

we'll  fool  'em,"  and  onward  he  sailed  with  a 
dory,  which  they  had  picked  up,  lashed  amid- 
ships. 

They  ran  out  of  grub  and  fuel.  They  had 
fitted  out  for  market  fishing,  with  ten  days  or  two 
weeks  as  the  probable  length  of  the  trip.  They 
were  now  four  weeks  out,  with  Cape  Cod  not  yet 
weathered.  Something  had  to  be  done.  Four 
times  they  had  got  all  but  abreast  of  the  cape — 
four  times  the  no'-wester  had  beaten  them  back. 
Under  their  rig  they  had  to  take  whatever  came. 
They  could  not  force  her  around  when  around 
she  would  not  go. 

Nobody  murmured.  They  were  enjoying  them- 
selves. For  one  thing  they  learned  how  Gerald 
made  out  with  the  bear,  and  Jerry  read  in  his 
round  voice  of  Gerald's  further  adventures;  and 
they  would  not  have  minded  it  much,  though,  to 
be  sure,  there  was  not  much  money  in  it  for  their 
families — but  that  was  the  luck  of  fishing — only 
they  were  cold  and  hungry. 

It  was  then  that  for  the  first  time  the  Skipper 
hailed  a  vessel.  She  was  one  of  the  big  liners,  a 
fourteen-thousand  tonner,  bound  out  from  Boston 
to  Liverpool.  Beside  her  huge  hulk  the  little 
Celestine,  with  her  ridiculous  jury-rig,  looked 
like  a  burlesque  toy.  But  Coleman  wasn't  apolo- 
gizing for  looks. 

64 


Stood  by  and  took  them  as  they  came  down. 


— See  p.  67. 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

"  I  know  ye'll  be  carryin'  the  mail  and  in  the 
divil's  own  hurry,  but  we're  a  little  short  of  grub," 
he  explained  when  the  steamer  had  come  to  a 
stop.  "  Our  head  steward  doubts  there'll  be 
oysters  and  ontrees  enough  for  our  seven  o'clock 
dinner  to-night,  and  if  ye'll  stay  hove-to  for  a 
half  hour  I'll  come  under  your  lee  and  go 
aboard." 

"  All  right.  But  how  will  you  carry  the 
stuff?" 

"Carry  it,  is  it?  Why,  in  the  dory,  to  be 
sure." 

"  What?     Put  a  dory  over  to-day?  " 

"And  why  not?" 

"  She'll  swamp." 

"  The  divil  she  will."  They  put  the  dory  over. 
Coleman  and  Jerry  got  in  it,  rowed  alongside, 
and  climbed  up  the  sea-ladder.  Half-way  up  the 
Skipper  looked  back — there  was  a  good  bit  of 
water  in  the  dory.  M  Jerry,  you'll  have  to  go 
down  again  and  bail  her  out."  Which  Jerry  did, 
while  the  Skipper  kept  on  to  the  steamer's  deck  to 
negotiate. 

"And  what  can  I  help  you  to?" 

"  Well,  we'll  need  a  little  coal." 

"All  right.     How  much?" 

"  Oh,    maybe    half    or    three-quarters    of    a 


ton." 


65 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

"Three-quarters  of  a  ton?  And  where'll  you 
carry  it?  " 

"  In  the  dory." 

"In  this  sea?" 

"  I've  carried  twenty-five  hundred  of  fish  in  a 
dory  in  more  sea  than  this." 

"  All  right — in  it  goes.     What  else?  " 

"  Oh,  some  wood." 

"Wood  all  gone,  too?" 

M  We  burned  the  last  of  our  bunk-boards  this 
morning." 

"Gracious!     How  much  wood?" 

"  Oh,  two  or  three  barrels."  ' 

"  All  right.  But  won't  it  overbalance  your 
dory?" 

"  L'ave  that  to  me.  And  have  you  some  veg- 
etables, say  a  barrel  of  potatoes " 

"  Sure.     And  where'll  you  put  them?" 

"  In  the  dory.  And  a  barrel  of  odds  and  ends 
— turnips  and  cabbage  and " 

"  And  that  in  the  dory,  too?  " 

"  In  the  dory — where  else?  And  a  tub  of  but- 
ter, and  a  case  or  two  of  canned  beef,  and  a  bit  of 
fresh  beef,  and  some  coffee  and  tea,  and  a  box  of 
hard  bread " 

"  And  all  in  the " 

"  In  the  dory,  yes." 

"  All  right.     Stand  by  and  over  they  go." 
66 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

And  the  Skipper  and  Jerry  stood  by  and  took 
them  as  they  came  down  and  piled  them  all  in 
the  dory,  to  the  wonder  of  all  who  saw.  "  And 
send  the  bill  to  the  man  I  told  you — he's  the 
owner.  And  'twould  be  servin'  him  no  more  than 
right  if  you  charged  him  good  and  high,  for  a 
man  that  would  ask  men  to  go  to  sea  in  a  circus 
vessel  like  this — sure  he  deserves  no  better." 

As  they  were  about  to  push  off,  the  steamer 
captain  lowered  down  another  case.  "  Of  bouil- 
lon," he  said,  "  for  yourself,  Captain — for  the 
nerve  of  you.  And  here's  for  the  boys  to  have  a 
drink,"  and  tossed  down  a  quart  of  whiskey. 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,"  said  Coleman,  and  he  and 
Jerry  pulled  off. 

From  the  steamer  they  watched  them  anxiously, 
expecting  to  see  them  swamped  and  lost.  But  not 
so.  There  is  an  art  in  managing  a  loaded  dory 
in  a  heavy  sea. 

Their  shipmates  greeted  them  affectionately. 
11  And  I'll  begin  with  the  bully  soup,  Skipper," 
said  the  cook.    "  'Twill  be  the  quickest  made." 

And  the  cook  did  that,  putting  the  twenty-four 
quarts  into  one  immense  boiler,  and  they  finished 
it  in  the  first  rush.  Then  the  Skipper  drew  the 
cork  out  of  the  bottle  of  whiskey. 

11  A  nice  man,  that  steamer  captain,"  said  Cole- 
man, "but  not  much  judgment.     *  Tell  the  boys 

67 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

to  have  a  drink  on  me,'  he  says,  and  that  same 
was  good  of  him.  But  one  quart  among  twenty- 
two  men !    Oh,  Lord !  " 

11  Lord  forgive  him,"  said  Jerry,  "  'tisn't 
enough  for  an  aggravation." 

After  that,  and  a  good  warming-up  and  drying 
out  of  wet  clothes,  they  went  on  deck  and  turned 
to  as  if  it  was  canoeing  on  the  Charles  River  they 
were.  They  coaxed  the  Celestine  along,  always 
with  an  eye  to  her  weak  side.  And  the  wind 
came  fair,  and  the  first  thing  they  knew — no  more 
than  a  couple  of  days  more  of  careful  night  and 
day  work  it  was — they  found  themselves  abreast 
of  Boston  lightship.  And  here  a  tug  bore  down 
and  hailed  them. 

"  You're  lookin'  in  bad  shape.  Will  I  heave  a 
line  aboard?  " 

"  Will  you?  I  don't  know.  How  much  to  the 
wharf?" 

"  Oh,  about  five  hundred  dollars,  I  guess." 

"  You  guess,  do  you  ?  Well,  I'll  make  a  guess 
you  won't." 

"Well,  what  d'y'  say  to  two  fifty?" 

"  No,  nor  one  fifty — nor  a  single  fifty,  nor  the 
half  of  fifty.  We've  beat  two  hundred  and  odd 
mile  this  way,  and  I  cal'late  we  can  make  ten  mile 
more  to  the  dock." 

"  Come  two  hundred  miles  in  that  rig?" 
68 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

"  Yes,  sir — from  Georges — and  could  come  it 
again." 

"From  Georges — in  the  weather  we've  had? 
Angel  Gabriel  I     I'll  take  you  up  for  nothing." 

"  No,  no,  you  won't.  We'll  give  you  what's 
due  you — ten  dollars." 

"All  right— ten  dollars." 

And  so  the  Celestine  came  back  to  T  Dock. 
And  an  appreciative  aggregation  of  connoisseurs 
in  seamanship  were  there  to  greet  her.  But  the 
crew  of  the  Celestine:  It  did  not  take  them  long 
to  hustle  ashore  after  she  was  tied  up — and  they 
all  had  their  bags  with  them.  No  more  of  her  for 
them,  thank  you. 

And  Coleman?  After  a  look  over  to  Eastern 
Packet  Pier  to  see  that  his  own  Maggie  was  still 
there,  Coleman  hurried  up  the  dock  and  headed 
for  the  bar  of  the  saloon  that  is  nearest  the  south 
side  of  T  Dock,  there  to  consummate  the  second 
of  the  rites  without  which  he  could  conceive  no 
trip  to  be  lucky. 

The  bartender  set  down  the  glass  of  water  and 
the  glass  empty  and  the  bottle  with  the  horse  and 
rider  on  the  outside.  Coleman  raised  the  bottle. 
But  looking  about  him  before  he  drank  and  ob- 
serving the  wistful  crowd,  he  set  his  filled  glass 
down  again  and  drew  his  old  wallet  from  his 
pocket,  and  from  there  dug  out  a  bill.     It  was  a 

69 


The  Wicked  "Celestine" 

five-dollar  bill — they  all  saw  it,  with  the  V  in 
plain  sight.  That,  Coleman  laid  down  on  the 
bar,  and  motioning  back  over  his  shoulder,  said 
heartily,  "  Let  ye  all  come  up — and  have  a  drink 
on  the  Maggie  Joyce — the  Maggie  for  me  from 
this  out." 

11  And  how  about  that  new  one,  Captain?  "  said 
one  when  the  rush  was  over  and  a  dozen  throats 
had  been  properly  sluiced. 

"That  one,  is  it?  That  one!  The  wicked — 
I  won't  say  it,  but  if  ever  I  set  foot  on  her  deck 
again  may —  That  one — why,  'tis  bad  as  pick- 
in'  up  a  painted  drab  on  the  street  and  your 
own  decent  wife  to  home.  Let  ye  drink  again — 
d'y'  hear  me?"  And  not  a  man  of  them  but 
heard. 


70 


THE  TRUTH  OF  THE  OLIVER 
CROMWELL 


The  Truth  of  the  Oliver 
Cromwell 

MARTIN  CARR  did  a  fine  thing  that 
afternoon.  Martin  and  John  Marsh 
were  hauling  trawls,  when  a  sea  capsized  their 
dory.  The  same  sea  washed  them  both  clear  of 
the  dory.  John  Marsh  could  not  swim.  It 
looked  as  if  he  had  hauled  his  last  trawl,  and  so 
beyond  all  question  he  had,  but  for  Martin,  who 
seized  one  of  their  buoy-kegs,  which  happened  to 
bob  up  near  by,  and  pushed  it  into  John's  despair- 
ing arms.  "  Hang  on  for  your  life,  John!  "  said 
Martin,  and  himself  struck  out  for  the  dory, 
knowing  that  the  buoy  could  not  support  two.  It 
was  perhaps  forty  feet  to  the  bottom  of  the  dory 
— not  a  great  swim,  that;  but  this  was  a  winter's 
day  on  the  Grand  Banks,  and  a  man  beaten  back 
by  a  rough  sea  and  borne  down  by  the  weight  of 
heavy  clothing,  oilskins,  and  big  jack-boots. 
When  he  had  fought  his  way  to  the  dory  he  had 
to  wait  a  while  before  he  dared  try  to  climb  up 

73 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

on  it,  he  was  that  tired;  and  after  he  got  there  he 
found  no  strap  to  the  plug,  and  so  nothing  to  hang 
on  to.  He  remembered  then  that  he  and  John 
had  often  spoken  of  fixing  up  a  strap  for  the 
plug,  but  had  never  fixed  it. 

11  My  own  neglect,"  muttered  Martin,  "  and 
now  I'm  paying  for  it." 

Clinging  to  the  smooth  planking  on  the  bottom 
of  the  dory  was  hard  work  that  day,  and  becoming 
harder  every  minute,  for  the  sea  was  making. 
And  there  was  John  to  keep  an  eye  on.  "  How're 
you  making  out,  Johnnie-boy  ?  "  he  called. 

"  It's  heavy  dragging,  but  I'm  all  right  so  far," 
John  answered. 

"And  how  is  it  with  you  now,  Johnnie-boy?" 
he  called  in  a  little  while  again. 

"  I  can  hang  on  a  while  yet,  Martin." 

11  Good  for  you !  "  said  Martin  to  that. 

14  Can  you  see  the  vessel?"  asked  John  after 
another  space. 

"  He's  giving  out,  and  I  see  no  vessel,"  thought 
Martin,  but  answered  cheerily,  "  Aye,  I  see  her." 

"  And  how  far  away  is  she,  and  what's  she 
doing?" 

Aloud  Martin  said,  "  Five  or  six  miles,  maybe, 
up  to  wind'ard;  and  she's  taking  aboard  all  but 
the  last  dory,  and  there's  men  gone  aloft  to  look 
for  us."     But  under  his  breath,  "  And  God  for- 

74 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

give  me  if  I  go  to  my  death  with  that  lie  on  my 
lips;  but  'tis  no  deeper  than  my  lips — no  deeper." 

Then  they  waited  and  waited,  until  John  said, 
"  Martin,  I'll  have  to  go  soon — I  can't  hang  on 
much  longer." 

"  Bide  a  while,  Johnnie-boy — bide  a  while. 
Dory-mates  we've  been  for  many  a  trip — bide  a 
while  with  me  now,  Johnnie." 

But  Martin  knew  that  it  would  be  for  but  a 
little  while  for  John — for  them  both,  if  help  did 
not  come  soon.  Scanning  the  sea  for  whatever 
hope  the  sea  might  give,  he  saw  the  trawl-line 
floating  on  the  water.  That  was  the  line  that 
ran  from  their  anchor  somewhere  on  the  bottom 
to  the  buoy-keg  to  which  John  was  clinging.  If 
he  could  but  get  hold  of  that  line  he  could  draw 
John  to  the  dory,  with  a  better  chance  to  talk  to 
him — to  put  heart  into  him,  for  Johnnie  was  but 
a  lad,  no  more  than  five  and  twenty. 

To  get  the  line,  he  would  have  to  swim ;  and  to 
swim  any  distance  in  that  rising  and  already  bad 
sea  he  would  have  to  cast  off  most  of  his  clothing. 
And  with  most  of  his  clothing  gone  he  would  not 
last  too  long.  Certainly  if  the  vessel  did  not  get 
them  by  dark,  he  would  never  live  through  the 
night.  He  would  freeze  to  death — that  he  knew 
well.  But  could  he  live  through  the  night,  any- 
way?    And  even  if  he  could —     But  what  was 

75 


Truth  of  the   Oliver  Cromwell 

the  good  of  thinking  all  night  over  it?  He 
pulled  off  his  boots,  untied  his  oilskins,  hauled  off 
his  heavy  outer  woollens. 

"  Johnnie-boy,  can  you  hang  on  a  while 
longer?  " 

"  I  dunno,  Martin — I  dunno.  Where's  the 
vessel  ?  " 

"  She's  bearing  down,  John."  And  with  the 
thought  of  that  second  lie  on  his  lips  Martin 
scooped  off  for  the  buoy-line,  which,  after  a  bat- 
tle, he  grabbed  and  towed  back  to  the  dory.  It 
was  a  hard  fight,  and  he  would  have  liked  well  to 
rest  a  while;  but  there  was  Johnnie.  So  in  he 
hauled  many  a  long  fathom  of  slack  ground-line, 
with  gangings  and  hooks,  and  after  that  the  buoy- 
line.  He  sorrowfully  regarded  the  fine  fat  fish 
that  he  passed  along;  every  hook  seemed  to  have 
a  fish  on  it.  "  Man,  man,  but  'twas  only  last 
night  I  baited  up  for  ye  in  the  cold  hold  of  the 
vessel — baited  with  the  cold  frozen  squid,  and  my 
fingers  nigh  frost-bitten."  But  every  hook  was 
bringing  him  nearer  to  his  dory-mate. 

He  felt  the  line  tauten  at  last.  "  Have  a  care 
now,  Johnnie,  while  I  draw  you  to  me,"  and 
hauled  in  till  Johnnie  was  alongside. 

But  "  Good-by,"  said  Johnnie  ere  yet  Martin 
had  him  safe. 

"  Not  yet,  Johnnie-boy,"  said  Martin,  and 
76 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

reached  for  him  and  held  him  up  and  lashed  him 
to  the  buoy.  "  You  can  rest  your  arms  now,  lad," 
he  said,  and  Johnnie  gratefully  let  go. 

"  'Tis  made  of  iron  a  man  should  be  that  goes 
winter  trawling,"  said  Martin,  and  up  on  the 
bottom  of  the  dory  he  climbed  again,  this  time 
with  infinite  difficulty. 

They  had  had  the  leeward  berth  and  now  were 
farthest  from  the  vessel,  and  by  this  time  it  was 
dark.  But  Martin  knew  the  Skipper  would  not 
give  them  up  in  a  hurry,  as  he  explained  to  John. 
And  by  and  by  they  saw  the  torches  flare  up. 

"  Wait  you,  John,"  said  Martin  then,  "  and 
save  your  strength.  I'll  hail  when  I  think  they're 
near  enough  to  hear."  Which  he  did,  in  a  voice 
that  obeyed  the  iron  will  and  carried  far  across 
the  waters. 

Then  the  vessel  saw  them  and  bore  down,  the 
Skipper  to  the  wheel  and  the  men  lining  the  rail. 

"  Be  easy  with  John,"  said  Martin  to  the  man 
who  first  stretched  his  arms  out  and  remarked, 
"  I'm  thinking  he's  nigh  gone." 

*  Nigh  gone?  He  is  gone,"  as  they  lifted  John 
aboard. 

"  But  all  right  with  him  now,"  they  said  as 
they  passed  him  along  the  deck.  "  And  how  is  it 
with  yourself,  Martin?"  they  asked  him  as  he 
was  about  to  step  over  the  rail. 

77 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

"  Fine  and  daisy,"  said  Martin.  "  How  is  it 
yourself,  boy?"  stepping  jauntily  up,  and  then, 
unable  longer  to  stand,  falling  flat  on  the  deck. 

Seeing  how  it  had  been  with  him,  they  made 
him  go  below  also,  which  he,  with  shipmates 
helping,  did;  and  also,  later,  put  on  the  dry  shift 
of  clothes  they  made  ready.  In  the  middle  of  it 
all  he  asked,  "Where's  Johnnie?" 

11  In  his  bunk — and  full  of  hot  coffee — where 
you'll  be  in  a  minute." 

"The  hell  I  will!  there's  my  dory  yet  to  be 
hoisted  in." 

"Your  dory,  Martin?  Why,  she's  in,  drained 
dry  and  griped  long  ago." 

"What!  and  me  below?  And  dory  in  al- 
ready? What  was  it?  Did  I  fall  asleep,  or 
what?  Lord!  but  it's  an  old  man  I  must  be  get- 
ting. I  wouldn't've  believed  it.  In  all  my  time 
to  sea,  that's  the  first  time  ever  I  warn't  able  to 
lift  hand  to  tayckles  and  my  own  dory  hoisting 
in."  He  made  for  the  companion-way,  but  so 
weak  was  he  that  he  fell  back  down  the  com- 
panion-way when  he  tried  to  make  the  deck. 

But  a  really  strong  man  recuperates  rapidly. 
An  hour  later  Martin  was  enjoying  a  fine  hot 
supper,  while  the  crew  sat  around  and  hove  ques- 
tions at  him.  They  asked  for  details,  and  he 
gave  them,  or  at  least  such  of  them  as  had  become 

78 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

impressed  on  his  mind;  particularly  did  he  con- 
demn, in  crisp  phrases,  the  botheration  of  boots 
that  leaked  and  the  need  of  a  second  plug-strap 
on  the  bottom  of  a  dory.  u  There  o"ught  to  be  a 
new  law  about  plug-straps,"  said  Martin. 

"  Did  ever  a  man  yet  come  off  the  bottom  of  a 
dory  and  not  speak  about  the  plug-straps?  "  com- 
mented one. 

"  And  leaky  boots  is  the  devil,"  affirmed  an- 
other— a  notorious  talker  this  one,  who  bunked 
up  in  the  peak,  where  he  could  be  dimly  seen 
now,  his  head  out  of  his  bunk  that  his  voice  might 
carry  the  better.  "  I  bought  a  pair  of  boots  in 
Boston  once — a  Jew  up  on  Atlantic  Avenue " 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  will  you  shut  up,  you  and 
your  Atlantic  Avenue  boots?  We'll  never  hear 
the  end  of  those  boots." 

The  man  in  the  peak  subsided,  and  he  who 
had  quelled  him,  near  to  the  stove  and  smoking 
a  pipe,  went  on  for  himself:  "  And  what  were 
you  thinkin'  of,  Martin,  when  you  thought  you 
were  goin'  ?  " 

"  Or  did  you  think  any  time  that  you  was 
goin'  ?  "  asked  somebody  else. 

"  Indeed  and  I  did,  and  a  dozen  times  I  thought 
it — and  that  'twas  a  blessed  cold  kind  of  a  day 
for  a  man  to  be  soaking  his  feet  in  the  ocean." 

"  And  yet " — the  lad  in  the  peak  was  in  com- 
79 


Truth  of  the  Oliver   Cromwell 

mission  again — "  and  yet  warn't  it  some  profes- 
sor said  in  that  book  that  somebody  was  reading 
out  of  the  other  day — warn't  it  him  said  that  salt 
water  ain't  nigh  so  cold  as  fresh.    Is  it,  Martin?  " 

11  As  to  that,"  answered  Martin,  "  I  dunno. 
But  I  wish  'twas  that  professor's  feet,  not  mine, 
was  astraddle  the  bottom  of  that  dory — not  to 
wish  him  any  harm.  But  winter's  day  and  the 
wind  no'therly,  I  found  it  cold  enough.'' 

"  I  went  into  a  Turkish  bath  parlor  in  New 
York  one  time,"  came  the  conversational  voice 
from  the  peak,  "  and  hot?    My  Lord " 

"  The  man,"  said  the  next  on  watch,  taking  his 
mitts  from  the  line  above  the  stove — "  the  man 
that'd  talk  about  hot  Turkish  baths  on  a  night 
like   this   to   sea — Turkish   baths,    and,    Lord  in 

heaven,    two    good    long    hours    up    there " 

He  halted  to  take  a  sniff  up  the  companion-way. 
"  Two  hours — what  ought  to  be  done  with  the 
like  o'  him?" 

The  man  by  the  stove,  who  a  while  before  had 
vanquished  the  lad  in  the  peak,  took  his  pipe  long 
enough  from  his  mouth  to  observe,  "  And  for  four 
years  now,  to  my  knowledge,  he's  been  tryin'  to 
tell  how  hot  'twas  in  that  Turkish  bath." 

"  Hit  him  with  a  gob-stick,"  suggested  the 
cook — "  or  this  rolling-pin."  He  was  flattening 
out  pie-crust. 

80 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

11  A  gob-stick  or  a  rolling-pin,"  said  the  next  on 
watch,  "  is  too  good  for  him.  Here,  take  this," 
and  passed  the  cook's  hatchet  along  the  lockers. 

The  opening  and  closing  of  the  hatch  after  the 
watch  had  gone  on  deck  admitted  a  blast  of  air 
that  made  the  man  in  the  bunk  nearest  the  steps 
draw  up  his  legs.  The  flame  in  the  lamp  flared, 
whereat  the  original  inquirer  got  up  to  set  the 
lamp  chimney  more  firmly  over  the  base  of  the 
burner,  and  before  he  sat  down  put  the  question 
again.  How  did  Martin  feel  when  he  thought 
he  was  sure  enough  going.  "  The  last  fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes  or  so  I  bet  you  did  some  thinkin' 
— didn't  you,  Martin?" 

"  A  little,"  admitted  Martin,  and  with  a  long 
arm  gaffed  another  potato.  "  Toward  the  end  of 
it  the  sea  did  begin  to  take  on  a  gray  look  that  I 
know  now  was  grayer  than  any  mortal  sea  ever 
could've  been." 

11  And  what  were  you  thinkin'  of  then, 
Martin?" 

u  What  was  I  thinking  of?  What — Lord,  but 
these  apple  dumplings  are  great  stuff,  aren't  they? 
You  don't  want  to  let  any  of  those  dumplings  get 
past  you,  Johnnie.  Never  mind  how  used-up  you 
feel,  come  out  of  your  bunk  and  try  'em.  Five  or 
six  good  plump  dumplings  inside  of  you  and  you'll 
forget  you  ever  saw  a  dory." 

81 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

"  He's  asleep,  Martin." 

"  Is  he?  Well,  maybe  'tis  just  as  well.  'Twas 
a  hard  drag  for  poor  John  to-day.  What  was  I 
thinking  of?  you  asked  me.  Well,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  was  thinking  of.  You  know  what  store  I 
set  by  a  good  razor.  I'd  go  a  hundred  mile  for 
a  good  razor — a  good  razor — any  time.  You  all 
know  that,   don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes— yes " 

11  Well,  this  last  time  out  I  brought  aboard  as 
fine  a  looking  razor  as  ever  a  man  laid  against 
his  face.  Oh,  I  saw  you  all  eying  it  the  last  time 
I  took  it  out.  Don't  pretend — I  know  you.  It's 
right  there  in  my  diddy-box,  and  before  I  turn 
in  to-night  it's  a  good  scrape  I'm  going  to  give 
myself  with  it — yes.     Well,  when  Johnnie'd  said 

*  Good-by,  Martin ' — said  it  for  the  second  time 
— '  Good-by,  Martin,  don't  mind  me  any  more, 
look  out  for  yourself ' — said  that,  and  I'd  said, 

*  Hold  on  a  little  longer '  to  him  for  about  the 
tenth  time — well,  about  that  time,  when  I  did 
begin  to  think  we  were  sure  enough  going — with 
it  coming  on  dark  and  no  sign  of  the  vessel  in 
sight — then  it  was  I  couldn't  help  wondering  who 
in  hell  aboard  the  vessel  was  going  to  get  that 
razor." 

When  everybody  had  done  laughing,  and  after 
two  or  three  had  told  how  they  felt  when  they 

82 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

were  on  the  bottom  of  a  dory,  the  persistent  one 
asked  again,  "  Martin,  but  you  must've  had  some 
close  calls  in  your  time?  " 

11  My  share — no  more."  He  was  taking  a 
look  around  the  table  as  he  spoke — a  lingering, 
regretful  look — and  then  he  gave  up  any  further 
thought  of  it.  "Ah-h,"  he  sighed,  "  but  I 
cert'nly  took  the  good  out  of  that  meal,"  and 
leaning  against  the  nearest  bunk-board — his  own 
— drew  out  his  pipe  from  beneath  the  mattress. 
11  My  share  and  no  more,"  he  repeated,  and 
reached  across  to  the  shelf  in  his  bunk  and  drew 
forth  a  plug  of  tobacco.  He  cut  off  the  proper 
quantity  and  rolled  it  around  between  his  palms 
the  proper  length  of  time  before  he  spoke  again. 
With  the  pipe  between  his  teeth  he  had  to  speak 
more  slowly.  "  Any  man  that's  been  thirty  years 
trawling  will  nat'rally  have  a  few  things  happen 
to  him.  To-day  makes  the  third  time  IVe  been 
on  the  bottom  of  a  dory,  and  cold  weather  each 
time — just  my  blessed  luck — cold  weather  each 
time  " — three  times  he  blew  through  the  stem  of 
his  pipe — u  and  I  don't  want  to  be  there  the 
fourth.  Eddie-boy,  hand  me  a  wisp  out  of  the 
broom  at  your  elbow." 

While  Martin  was  cleaning  out  his  pipe  some- 
body put  the  question  generally.  Would  they 
rather  be  on  the  bottom  of  a  dory  out  to  sea,  or 

83 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

on  a  vessel  piled  up  on  the  rocky  shore  some- 
where ? 

"  On  the  rocks  for  me." 

11  And  for  me." 

14  Yes,  a  chance  to  get  ashore  from  a  wreck,  but 
the  bottom  of  a  dory  with  the  sea  breaking  over 
you,  and  it  cold  maybe — cert'nly  it's  never  any 
too  warm — wr-r-h !  " 

There  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  of  what  they 
would  take  for  their  choice.  "  And  yet,"  com- 
mented Martin  when  the  last  word  had  been  said, 
44 1  dunno  but  the  closest  call  ever  I  had  was  when 
the  Oliver  Cromwell  went  ashore  and  was  lost  off 
Whitehead." 

44  Cripes,  but  I'm  glad  I  warn't  on  her.  A  bad 
business  that — a  bad  business.  Hand  me  that 
plate,  will  you,  Martin  " — this  from  the  cook. 

44  Sure,  boy — here  y'are — an  armful  of  plates. 
Cook  on  a  fisherman's  the  last  job  I'd  want — 
you're  never  done.  And  you're  right  it  was  a  bad 
business,  cook.  When  you've  seen  nineteen  men 
washed  over  one  after  the  other,  every  man — 
every  man  but  one,  that  is — putting  up  the  divil's 
own  fight  for  his  life  before  he  went — I  dunno 
but  what  it  must  be  worse  than  going  down  at 
sea  altogether,  all  hands  in  one  second,  with  no 
chance  at  all — though  that  must  be  hard  enough, 
too." 

84 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

Silence  for  a  while,  and  then  Martin  con- 
tinued: "If  I  had  it  to  do  over  again" — two 
long  puffs — "  to  do  it  over  and  be  lost  instead 
of  saved,  I  dunno  but  what  Fd  rather  founder 
at  sea  myself.  Nineteen  men  lost — eighteen  good 
men — Lord,  but  'twas  cruel !  " 

Martin,  with  his  head  back,  was  gazing 
thoughtfully  up  at  the  deck-beams.  A  gentle 
leading  question,  and  he  resumed. 

"  We  left  Gloucester  that  trip  with  the  Skip- 
per's—  But  to  tell  that  story  right  a  man  ought 
to  begin  away  back.  But  will  you  give  me  a 
match,  somebody?" 

He  lit  up  again,  and  then  settled  himself 
snugly  between  the  edge  of  the  table  and  his  bunk- 
board,  after  the  manner  of  a  man  who  is  in  for  a 
long  sitting-out.  Once  he  really  started  there 
were  but  few  interruptions.  The  loss  of  the 
Cromwell  was  a  serious  affair,  and  nobody  broke 
in  thoughtlessly;  and  only  when  Martin  would 
stop  to  refill  his  pipe,  or  to  light  up  again  when 
he  found  he  had  let  it  go  out,  did  he  make  any 
halt  himself. 

"What  the  Hoodleys  of  Cape  Ann  were,  and 
are  still,"  began  Martin,  "  of  course  all  of  you, 
or  most  all  of  you,  anyway,  know.  Or  maybe 
some  of  you  don't  know.    Well,  they  were  a  hard 

85 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

crowd — but  didn't  know  it — the  kind  of  people 
that  whenever  they  got  to  talking  about  their  own 
kind,  never  had  any  tales  to  prove  maybe  that 
there  was  even  the  lightest  bit  of  wit  or  grace  or 
beauty  among  them;  no,  none  of  that  for  the 
Hoodleys  of  Cape  Ann.  But  to  show  you  what 
thrifty,  hard-headed  fore-people  they  had,  they 
could  spin  off,  any  of  'em,  a  hundred  little  yarns, 
almost  any  day,  as  if  anybody  on  earth  that  knew 
those  of  them  that  were  alive  would  ever  doubt 
what  the  dead-and-gone  ones  must've  been.  Hard 
they  were — even  neighbors  that  didn't  take  life 
as  a  dream  of  poetry  said  that  much  of  them. 
Hard  they  were — man,  yes — the  kind  that  little 
children  never  toddled  up  to  and  climbed  on  to 
their  knees,  nor  a  man  in  hard  luck  by  any  mis- 
take ever  asked  the  loan  of  a  dollar  of — the  kind 
that  never  a  man  walked  across  the  street  to  shake 
hands  with.  That's  the  kind  they  were.  Take 
'em  all  in  all,  I  guess  that  the  Hoodleys  were 
about  as  hard  a  tribe  as  you'd  find  in  all  Essex 
County — surely  'tisn't  possible  there  were  any 
harder.  And  yet  you  couldn't  pick  a  flaw  in  'em 
before  the  law.  They  were  honest.  Everybody 
had  to  say  that  for  them — paying  their  debts, 
their  just  debts — as  they  put  it  themselves — and 
collecting  their  own  dues,  don't  fear,  and  a  great 
respect  for  the  letter  of  the  law — for  the  letter  of 

86 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

it.  And  I  mind  they  used  to  boast  that  for  gen- 
erations their  people  had  kept  clear  of  the  poor- 
houses,  and  that  all  had  been  church-members  in 
good  standing.  Well,  not  exactly  all;  for,  to 
be  exact  and  truthful — they  themselves  used  to 
put  it  that  way — there  was  one  here  and  there 
that  had  broken  away.  But  such  had  been  rare, 
as  one  of  them — a  strong  church-member — used 
to  put  it,  and  the  devil  is  ever  active;  and  speak- 
ing of  the  devil,  this  particular  member'd  go  on, 
there  is  always  the  blistering  pit  for  the  un- 
righteous. That  last  I  s'pose  he  thought  he  ought 
to  put  in,  because  everybody  knew  that  of  all  the 
people  that  fell  from  grace,  the  wickedest,  the 
most  blasphemous,  the  most  evil  of  all  evil  livers 
had  been  those  of  the  Hoodleys  that  had  back- 
slided.  Once  they  went  to  the  bad  they  cert'nly 
went  beyond  all  hope;  and  nobody  did  they  curse 
out  more  furiously  than  their  own  people  every 
time  they  did  start  in. 

"  Well,  the  Hoodleys  weren't  a  seafaring  peo- 
ple originally.  They  moved  over  to  Gloucester, 
y'see,  at  one  particular  time  when  everybody  was 
expecting  in  some  way  to  make  money  out  of 
fishing.  George  Hoodley  was  a  lad  then — seven- 
teen— with  the  hard  kind  of  a  face  and  the 
awkward  body  that  everybody  nat'rally  looked 
for  in  one  of  his  breed.     And  he  had  the  kind  of 

87 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

a  mind,  I  cal'late,  that  his  father  would  like  a 
boy  of  his  to  have.  Well,  George  signed  right 
away  for  a  boy's  wages  with  a  prudent  master — 
old  Sol  Tucker  it  was — that  went  in  the  Distant 
Shore  so  long.  They  used  to  say  that  Sol  wore 
the  same  pair  of  jack-boots  out  of  her  that  he  had 
when  he  first  went  aboard,  and  there  was  eighteen 
years  between  his  first  and  last  trips  in  her.  I 
mind  the  jack-boots — and  they  were  cert'nly  well 
patched  when  I  saw  them — though  no  more  than 
twelve  year  old  then.  That'll  give  you  an  idea 
of  Sol.  And  George  Hoodley  put  in  thirteen 
years  with  Sol,  and  thirteen  long  hard  drags  of 
years  they  mustVe  been.  I  misdoubt  that  any  of 
us  here  could've  stood  those  thirteen — no,  sir,  not 
for  vessel's,  skipper's,  and  hand's  share  together. 
Well,  George  stood  it,  and  I  don't  b'lieve  he  ever 
knew  he  was  missing  anything  in  life.  But  he  had 
something  to  show  for  it,  as  he'd  say  himself. 
When  he  left  old  Sol  he  was  able  to  buy  a  half 
interest  and  go  master  of  a  good  vessel.  I  went 
with  him  in  her — the  Harding — two  trips — just 
two,  no  more." 

Martin  halted  to  light  up  again,  and  somebody 
asked,  "  Warn't  it  the  Harding,  Martin,  that  had 
the  small  cabin?" 

"  Yes,  the  smallest,  they  say,  that  ever  was  seen 
in  a  fisherman.    Just  about  room  to  stand  between 

88 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

the  steps  and  the  stove  and  between  the  stove  and 
the  bulkhead  again;  and  not  much  better  for'ard 
— a  forec's'le  so  small  that  the  crew  used  to  say 
they  had  to  go  on  deck  to  haul  on  their  oilskins. 
She  was  all  hold.  Well,  while  he  was  in  the 
Harding  George  made  a  great  reputation  for  all 
kinds  of  carefulness.  Most  men  that  went  with 
him  said  he  was  altogether  too  careful  for  any 
mortal  use;  and  maybe  that  was  so.  But  his  sav- 
ings kept  piling  up,  and  there  was  plenty  of  other 
careful  men  to  ship  with  him  and  abide  by  him. 

"  One  thing  that  George  and  his  people  used 
to  boast  about  was  that  he  warn't  like  a  good 
many  other  fishermen.  While  a  good  many  of 
them  were  putting  in  time  ashore  drinking,  sky- 
larking, or  if  it  warn't  no  more  than  to  spend  a 
quiet  sociable  evening  with  their  friends  or  their 
own  families — during  all  that  George  was  at- 
tending to  business,  for  business  it  was  to  him. 
He  was  talking  one  day  of  those  who  said  fishing 
was  a  venture,  or  even  adventure,  and  he'd  been 
reading  somewhere,  he  said,  of  the  joy  that  some- 
body thought  fine,  strong  men  ought  to  get  out 
of  fishing.  He  almost  smiled  when  he  was  tell- 
ing it.  The  joy  of  fishing!  If  you  had  a  good 
trip  of  fish  and  got  a  good  price  for  it,  why, 
yes,  fishing  was  good  fun  then.  But  as  far  as  he 
could  see  it  was  like  any  other  kind  of  work. 

89 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

You  put  in  about  so  much  time  at  it  and  took  good 
care  of  your  money,  and  at  the  end  of  the  year 
you  had  about  so  much  to  show  for  it.  And  as 
for  the  fun  of  fighting  a  breeze  of  wind  that  some 
of  them  talked  about,  seeing  how  long  you  could 
hang  on  to  your  canvas  without  losing  your  spars, 
or  how  far  down  you  could  let  your  vessel  roll 
before  she'd  capsize — none  of  that  for  him.  And 
it  was  all  rot,  their  pretending  they  got  any  fun 
out  of  it.  They  had  the  same  blood  and  nerve 
and  senses  as  any  other  humans,  and  he  knew 
that  for  himself  he  was  content  to  stay  hove-to 
when  it  blew  one  of  the  living  gales  they  talked 
about,  and  satisfied,  too,  to  shorten  sail  in  time, 
even  if  he  was  bound  home,  when  it  blew  hard 
enough.  Gloucester  would  be  there  when  he  got 
there — it  wouldn't  blow  away.  Cert'nly,  he'd 
admit,  the  drivers'd  outsail  him  on  a  passage  and 
beat  him  out  of  the  market  once  in  a  while;  but 
in  the  long  run  his  way  paid  best.  He  could  name 
the  foolish  fellows  that'd  been  lost,  and  the  fin- 
gers of  both  hands  wouldn't  begin  to  name  them. 
Yes,  and  left  families  to  starve,  some  of  'em.  And 
he  himself  was  alive  and  still  bringing  home  the 
fish,  and  everybody  in  Gloucester  knew  what  he 
had  to  show  for  it. 

"  Well,  by  that  time  everybody  in  Gloucester 
did  know  what  he  had  to  show  for  it,  and  every- 

90 


Truth  of  the  Oliver   Cromwell 

body  in  Gloucester  said  it  was  about  time  he  began 
to  look  around  for  a  wife,  though  nobody  ex- 
pected George  Hoodley  to  look  around  for  a 
wife  after  the  regular  manner  of  fishermen,  who 
don't  look  around  at  all,  so  far  as  I  c'n  see.  We 
ourselves,  or  most  of  us,  anyway,  liking  the  girl 
pretty  well  and  she  willing,  gen'rally  hurry  up 
to  get  married  'bout  as  soon  as  we  find  ourselves 
with  a  couple  of  months'  rent  ahead. 

"  But  not  that  way  with  George  Hoodley.  It 
wasn't  until  he  was  forty-five  that  he  began  to 
look  around  after  the  manner  of  his  people  for  a 
wife.  There  was  to  be  no  rushing  into  the  ex- 
penses of  matrimony;  but  with  two  good  vessels, 
and  a  house  all  clear,  a  man  might  well  think  of 
it — or  leastways  I  imagine  that's  the  way  he 
thought  it  out,  if  he  wasted  any  time  thinking 
of  it  at  all. 

"  Now,  if  George  Hoodley  had  not  been  like 
other  men  during  all  the  years  he  was  fishing,  if 
he  hadn't  joined  in  the  talk  of  his  mates  on  what 
was  worth  having  in  life — you  know  how  fisher- 
men gen' rally  talk  when  they  get  going  on  some 
things — even  if  George  Hoodley  pretended  to 
think  that  he  thought  they  were  a  lot  of  blessed 
fools,  yet  it  is  more  than  likely  that  the  opinions 
of  the  men  he  went  to  sea  with  had  their  influence 
with  him  just  the  same.    It  stands  to  reason  they 

91 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

were  bound  to,  after  years  of  it.  And  then,  clear 
back  he  mustVe  come  of  flesh-and-blood  people, 
like  anybody  else.  For,  though  nobody  could 
imagine  the  Hoodleys  having  weaknesses  like 
other  people,  yet  cert'nly,  if  you  went  far  enough 
back,  there  mustVe  been  ancestors  among  'em  all 
— one  or  two — that  enjoyed  life  the  same  as  other 
people. 

"  Well,  for  a  wife  George  took  a  very  pretty 
girl  who  was  young  enough — some  of  you  that 
know  her  know  that  well — young  enough  to  have 
had  grandchildren  to  him.  Twenty  or  twenty- 
one,  light-haired,  pretty  face,  and  a  trim  figure. 
I  didn't  like  her  eyes  or  her  mouth  myself,  but 
everybody  agreed  she  was  pretty.  She  had  never 
been  so  far  away  from  home  that  she  could  not 
be  back  again  the  same  day — and  that  certified  to 
her  character  with  some  people.  For  other 
things,  she  would  come  into  some  money  when 
her  father  died.  And  her  father  didn't  object  to 
George  Hoodley.  He  was  a  thrifty  man,  too, 
and  said  all  right — made  George's  way  easy,  in 
fact. 

"  Now,  I  cal'late  that  George  thought  that  he 
never  did  a  wiser  thing  in  all  his  life  than  when 
he  married  that  girl.  Among  the  men  he  knew 
there  were  some  that'd  got  pretty  wives,  but  no 
money;  and  others  money,  but  plain-lookers.     He 

92 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

was  getting  both,  good  looks  and  money,  and  he 
could  laugh  at  them  all — those  who  wanted  her 
because  of  the  money  in  prospect  or  those  others 
who  were  in  love  with  her  face.  And  maybe  he 
didn't  laugh  at  some  of  'em! — the  sail-carriers 
and  others  who  imagined  that  a  reputation  for 
foolishness  at  sea  won  women's  hearts.  It  was  a 
great  stroke  of  business  altogether.  He  would 
get  his  share  of  good  living  yet — he  boasted  of 
that.  He  had  always  taken. the  best  care  of  him- 
self— never  drank  and  seldom  smoked,  and  then 
only  in  the  way  of  business — was  in  the  prime  of 
life,  had  a  tough  constitution,  and  his  wife-to-be 
was  young  and  pretty.  He  could  laugh  at  all 
of  them. 

"  Nearly  everybody  in  Gloucester  said  nice 
things  to  George.  *  My,  but  you're  the  deep  one 
— and  lucky?  Oh,  no,  you're  not  a  bit  lucky  1 
But  you  always  did  have  a  long  head — '  That's 
the  way  most  people  talked  to  him,  and  he  liked 
it.  As  for  the  few  who  didn't  seem  pleased — the 
three  or  four  who  hinted,  but  didn't  ask  outright 
if  he  thought  he  was  doing  a  wise  thing — George 
said  it  was  easy  enough  to  place  them — they'd  like 
to  get  her  themselves.  If  he  was  only  another 
kind  of  a  man  he  might  have  been  warned  in 
time,  but  he  was  that  kind  that  nobody  felt  sorry 
for.     And  that's  a  hard  thing,  too. 

93 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

11  Well,  they  were  married,  and  the  wonderful 
thing  of  George  letting  his  vessel  go  out  a  trip 
without  him  was  on  exhibition  to  the  people  of 
Gloucester.  Yes,  sir,  she  went  to  sea  the  day  he 
was  married.  He  stayed  ashore  that  trip — that 
trip,  but  not  the  second. 

"The  truth  was,  they  didn't  get  along  well 
together;  which  warn't  remarkable,  maybe — she 
young  and  pretty,  and  he  the  age  he  was  and  more 
than  looking  it.  Forty-seven's  a  fine  age  for  some 
men,  but  not  for  George's  kind.  Leather-skinned 
he  was,  with  lean  chops  of  jaws,  a  mouth  as  tight 
as  a  deck  beam,  a  turkey  neck — you've  seen 
turkey  necks — and  eyes  that  were  cold  as  a  dead 
haddock's. 

"  George,  I  cal'late,  was  beginning  to  learn  that 
a  woman  was  a  different  proposition  from  a  ves- 
sel, and  that  there  were  things  about  a  woman 
that  had  to  be  studied  out.  Not  that  I  think  he 
tried  overhard  to  study  this  one  out.  Listening 
to  him  as  I  had  many  a  time  before  he  got  mar- 
ried, I  knew  that  he  figured  that  a  woman,  like 
everything  else,  had  her  place  in  the  universe,  and 
she  ought  to  know  it,  or  be  made  to  know  it.  And 
now  here  was  his  wife's  case:  a  steady  man  for  a 
husband,  a  good  house  to  live  in,  grub  and  her 
clothes  all  found,  or,  anyway,  as  much  clothes  as 
he  thought  fit  and  proper  for  her  to  have.     Could 

94 


Truth  of  the  Oliver   Cromwell 

a  woman  expect  more,  or  a  man  do  more,  than 
that? 

"  'Twarn't  long  after  he  got  married  that 
things  began  to  go  wrong,  not  only  at  home  but 
out  to  sea.  There  was  the  trip  he  broke  his  ankle. 
Coming  home,  he  looked  maybe  for  a  little  show 
of  grief  on  the  part  of  his  wife,  but,  if  he  did, 
he  didn't  find  it.  Indeed,  she  even  said  he  ought 
to  go  to  a  hospital  instead  of  making  it  hard  for 
her  at  home.  'Twas  common  talk  that  she  said 
that. 

"  Going  out  his  next  trip,  with  his  leg  not  yet 
well-knit  and  himself  having  to  limp  out  the  door, 
he  and  his  wife  had  words.  Billie  Shaw,  pass- 
ing by,  heard  them.  *  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see 
you  again,'  he  said.  *  And  if  you  think  I'd  care 
if  I  never  saw  you  again  either,  you're  mistaken. 
I  wouldn't  care  if  you're  lost — you  and  your  ves- 
sel.   Only  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  all  the  crew  lost.' 

"  That  last  must  have  set  him  to  thinking,  for 
he  didn't  sail  that  day,  as  he  said  he  would,  but 
put  in  a  day  talking  to  people  around  town.  I 
know  he  asked  me,  for  one,  a  lot  of  questions. 
I  didn't  know  till  later  what  he  was  driving  at. 
'Twas  while  he  was  questioning  me  that  he  coaxed 
me  into  shipping  with  him.  *  Just  this  trip,  Mar- 
tin,' he  said.  *  And  your  cousin  Dan  Spring's 
thinking  of  coming  out  with  me  this  time,  to  help 

95 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

me  out.  Two  men  left  me  suddenly  to-day,  and 
if  you'll  come  out  Dan'll  surely  come.'  And  so 
out  of  good-nature  I  said  I'd  go  with  him.  It's 
blessed  little  he  got  out  of  me,  though,  in  answer 
to  his  other  questions,  but  he  found  plenty  of 
others  willing  to  talk. 

11  Well,  on  the  passage  out  we  all  noticed  he 
seemed  an  absent-minded  man.  We  noticed,  too, 
or  thought  we  did,  that  he  used  to  forget  that 
his  leg  warn't  yet  very  strong,  and  that  now  and 
then  he  had  to  pull  up  when  it  seemed  to  hurt 
him  bad. 

"  That  trip — well,  it  was  a  queer  one  from 
the  first.  With  myself  and  my  cousin  Dan,  who 
were  dory-mates,  it  warn't  nothing  but  accidents. 
There  was  that  after  the  first  haul  of  fish  when  we 
were  dropping  down  to  come  alongside.  It  was 
a  bit  rough,  that's  a  fact.  Some  said  that  for  so 
careful  a  man  it  was  surprising  that  the  Skipper 
had  ordered  the  dories  out  at  all  that  day.  How- 
ever, we  were  just  ahead  of  her — under  the  end 
of  her  bowsprit  almost — and  of  course  Dan  and 
myself  nat'rally  looked  for  the  Skipper  to  look  out 
for  us.  We  were  so  near  that  Dan  had  taken  in 
his  oars  and  had  the  painter  ready  to  heave 
aboard.  I  was  at  the  oars.  One  stroke  more,  I 
thought,  and  we'll  be  all  right,  when  whing!  the 
first  thing  we  knew  around  came  the  vessel  and 

96 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

down  on  us.  I  couldn't  do  anything  with  the 
dory,  she  being  down  to  her  gunnels  with  fish. 
Well,  Dan  had  time  to  holler  to  me,  and  I  hol- 
lered to  him — no  more  than  that — when  she  was 
on  us.  By  a  miracle,  you  might  say,  we  both  man- 
aged to  grab  the  bob-stay.  The  stem  of  the  vessel 
cut  the  dory  like  it  was  a  cracker,  and  then  under 
her  keel  it  went. 

"  Not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it  all,  we 
climbed  aboard  over  the  bow.  Our  faces  were 
no  more  than  above  the  knight-heads  than  the 
Skipper  yelled.  We  ran  aft  and  asked  him  what 
was  wrong.  He  stared  at  us  for  a  second  as  if 
he  couldn't  understand. 

"'  What's  it?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Why,  I  thought  you  two  were  gone.' 

"  *  And  so  we  were,  for  all  of  you.  A  man 
that's  been  to  sea  as  long  you,  George  Hoodley,' 
I  said,  '  and  put  a  wheel  the  wrong  way !  No- 
body ever  said  you  were  the  cleverest  man  out  of 
Gloucester  to  handle  a  vessel,  but  cert'nly  you 
know  down  from  up.' 

"  *  Martin,'  he  said,  *  I  give  you  my  word.  Just 
as  I  grabbed  the  wheel  that  time  a  sea  came  aboard, 
the  vessel  lurched,  and  down  on  deck  I  went,  with 
my  weak  ankle  giving  way  under  me.' 

44  Well,  our  dory  was  gone,  but  later  in  the  trip 
one  of  the  crew,  Bill  Thornton,  was  troubled  with 

97 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

a  felon  on  his  finger.  'Twarn't  anything  very  bad, 
and  Bill  himself  said  it  didn't  amount  to  anything, 
but  the  Skipper  thought  Bill'd  better  stay  aboard, 
and  his  dory-mate  with  him.  *  And  Martin,  you 
and  Dan  take  his  dory/  says  the  Skipper — '  you 
two  being  so  used  to  each  other  it'll  be  the  best 
way.' 

"  Well,  that  was  all  right.  We  took  their  dory 
and  gear  and  went  out  the  next  set — only  two  days 
after  our  own  dory  had  been  lost,  mind  you. 
Well,  this  time  we  got  lost  in  the  fog  and  were  out 
overnight.  It  turned  out  a  snowy  night,  and  cold, 
with  fog  again  in  the  morning.  That  morning, 
so  we  heard  from  the  crew  later,  the  Skipper 
said,  after  a  little  jogging  about,  '  They  must  be 
gone;  we  may  as  well  give  it  up.'  Well,  every- 
body aboard  thought  there  was  a  good  chance  for 
us  yet,  and  one  or  two  hinted  at  that.  But  he 
wouldn't  have  it.  'Run  her  westerly,'  he  said,  and 
went  below.  Well,  to  everybody's  surprise  we 
popped  up  just  then  almost  under  her  bow.  'Twas 
quite  a  little  sea  on  at  the  time,  but  the  man  at  the 
wheel  this  time  didn't  have  any  bad  ankle.  He 
jibed  her  over  in  time  and  we  climbed  aboard. 
One  man  ran  down  to  call  the  Skipper  and  tell  him 
the  news,  but  the  Skipper  only  swore  at  him.  '  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  watch  shifted  the 
course  of  this  vessel  without  orders  from  me  ?     I'll 

98 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

talk  to  him.'  And  he  did  talk  to  him,  and  in  a 
most  surprising  way.  We  didn't  know  what  to 
make  of  it.  He  raved.  *  Discipline,'  he  said — 
he'd  always  been  a  great  hand  for  discipline  aboard 
his  vessel,  but  this  warn't  any  case  for  discipline — 
'twas  men's  lives. 

"  Well,  they  expected  to  have  two  or  three  more 
days  of  fishing  aboard  the  Cromwell  after  that 
day,  but  I  made  a  kick.  Never  again  would  I 
haul  a  trawl  for  a  skipper  of  his  kind,  I  said. 

"  *  What?  '  asked  the  Skipper.  '  You  mean  to 
mutinize  on  me?  ' 

"  *  Call  it  mutiny  or  what  you  please,'  said  I, 
*  but  myself  and  Dan  don't  leave  this  vessel  again 
in  a  dory.' 

"  '  Don't  you  know  I  can  run  into  the  nearest 
port,  Newf'undland  or  Nova  Scotia,  and  put  you 
ashore  ?  ' 

"  '  I  do.' 

"  *  Or  take  you  both  back  to  Gloucester  and 
have  you  up  before  the  court?  ' 

11  *  You  can  put  us  up  before  forty  courts — the 
highest  in  the  land,  if  you  want — and  maybe 
they'll  sentence  us  to  ten  years  in  jail,  or  to  be 
strung  up  to  a  yard-arm  somewheres.  But  I  don't 
cal'late  they  will — I  don't  cal'late  so — not  after  we 
tell  our  story.  It's  a  fine  thing  fishermen  have 
come  to  when  their  own  skippers  try  to  lose  'em.' 

99 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

"  '  Lose  you  ?  Me  try  to  lose  you  ?  And  why, 
in  God's  name,  would  I  try  to  lose  you  ?  ' 

"  *  Lord  knows.  But  you  do,  and  there's  an 
end  of  it.  Dan  and  I  don't  swing  any  dory  over 
the  rail  of  this  vessel  this  trip  again.' 

11  He  said  nothing  to  that.  Only  he  looked  at 
me,  then  a  long  look  at  Dan,  and  turned  into  his 
bunk  again.  Later  in  the  day  he  drew  out  a  quart 
bottle  of  whiskey  and  began  to  drink.  That  was 
a  new  thing  to  his  crew  that  knew  him  so  long. 
They'd  pretty  good  reason  to  believe  that  he'd 
kept  a  bottle  in  his  closet  under  lock  and  key  for  a 
little  drink  on  the  quiet  when  the  dories  were  out 
and  nobody  by ;  but  they  knew  he  did  it  slyly  so  as 
not  to  have  the  name  of  it,  or  maybe  so's  not  to 
have  to  ask  anybody  to  join  him,  and  so  save  ex- 
pense. But  everybody  knew  that  whatever  liquor 
he  took  that  way  was  not  enough  to  hurt  him. 
Yes,  a  sober  man  he'd  always  been — everybody 
had  to  say  that  for  him.  But  now  he  was  drinking 
with  all  hands  looking  on,  taking  it  down  in  gulps, 
and  when  the  first  quart  was  gone  he  brought  out 
another,  drinking  by  himself  all  the  time. 

"  However,  he  warn't  drunk  by  a  good  deal 
when  in  the  middle  of  the  night  he  ordered  all 
hands  on  deck  to  make  sail.  The  men  thought  he 
was  crazy;  but  he  was  the  skipper.  If  anything 
happened,  'twas  his  lookout,  not  theirs.     So  they 

ioo 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

gave  her  the  full  mains'l,  and  then  he  ordered  the 
man  at  the  wheel  to  swing  her  off. 

11 '  Yes,  sir,  and  what  course?  ' 

11 '  What  course?  Didn't  I  say  to  swing  her 
off  ?  Put  her  fair  before  it.  ;,  Jftte  i  oVer  ybuf 
fores'l  and  let  her  run — let  het  run,  I  tell  yod' 
Whichever  way  she  goes,  let  tief  run!' 

"  And  we  let  her  run  all  that  night  and  all  next 
day.  She  was  under  her  winter  rig — in  March 
it  was — no  topm'sts ;  but  the  four  lower  sails  alone 
were  enough  for  any  Gloucester  fisherman  that  sec- 
ond night.  I  mind  'twas  nine  o'clock  that  night, 
and  Abner  Tucker's  watch.  A  staid,  sober  man 
was  Abner.  He'd  been  to  sea  for  twenty  years, 
and  been  with  George  for  ten  years — stayed  with 
him  because  he  knew  him  for  a  prudent  man,  I 
s'pose.  Well,  Abner  took  the  wheel,  and  getting 
the  feel  of  it,  cried  out,  *  Lord  in  heaven,  it's  like 
trying  to  steer  two  vessels — she's  running  wild  1 ' 
and  braced  himself  against  the  wheel,  but  warn't 
braced  firm  enough,  or  he  warn't  strong  enough, 
for  he  let  her  broach,  and  a  sea  swept  her  quarter, 
burying  him  and  the  vessel  both.  Over  the  top  of 
the  house  went  that  sea  and  down  into  the  cabin  by 
the  ton.  They  were  floated  out  in  the  cabin  and 
came  tumbling  up  on  deck.  Josh  Whitaker,  a  bait 
knife  in  his  hand,  jumped  to  the  main  peak  hal- 
yards. 

101 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 
"  The  Skipper  noticed  him.     '  What  you  goin' 

todo?' 

"  *  Cut,'  says  Josh. 
"  '  You  cut,  and  I'll  cut  you ! '  The  Skipper, 
too,  had  a  bait-knife,  and  he  lunged  with  it  for 
Josh.  Then  he  stood  guard  by  the  halyards. 
1  Or  if  anybody  else  thinks  to  cut ' — and  we  saw 
the  rest  of  it  in  his  face — dark  as  it  was,  we  saw 
that. 

"  The  Skipper  was  still  on  guard  there  when 
Dan  and  myself  came  on  deck  for  our  watch. 
That  was  eleven  o'clock.  Dan  went  for'ard  to 
look  out  and  I  took  the  wheel  from  Abner,  and 
glad  enough  he  was  to  turn  the  wheel  over  when 
he  gave  me  the  course.  I  looked  in  the  binnacle 
to  make  sure  he  had  it  right. 

"  *  Still  on  that  course?  '  I  asked,  when  I'd  seen 
'twas  so.     '  Where's  the  Skipper?  ' 

"  *  Here,'  said  the  Skipper  himself  from  be- 
tween the  house  and  the  weather  rail,  where  he 
was  still  watching  that  nobody  bothered  the  hal- 
yards, I  s'pose.     *  What's  it?' 

"  *  How  about  the  course?  '  I  asked. 

"  *  What's  wrong  with  the  course?  ' 

"  *  No'west  by  west  half  west — is  it  right?  ' 

"  *  No'west  by  west  half  west,  or  whatever  it  is 
— yes.     And  why  not?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  nothin',  if  you  say  it's  right.' 
102 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

"  '  And  why  isn't  it  right?  Why  not?  Why 
don't  you  spit  it  out?     What's  wrong,  anyway?  ' 

"  '  What's  wrong?  '  I  said.  *  Don't  you  know 
we  warn't  much  more  than  three  hundred  miles  off 
shore  on  this  course  when  we  swung  her  off  last 
night,  and  we've  been  coming  along  now  for 
twenty-three  hours — and  the  clip  she's  been  com- 
ing! ' 

"  He  said  nothing  to  that  for  a  while,  and  then 
it  was,  *  And  so  you  don't  think  the  course  is  right?  ' 

"  *  No,  I  don't — not  if  you're  intending  to  make 
Gloucester.' 

11 '  That  so?  Not  if  I  was  intending  to  make 
Gloucester?  And  where  in  the  name  o'  heaven 
am  I  headin'  for  if  not  Gloucester? ' 

"  *  Where?  where?  Damned  if  I  know,'  says 
I.     *  Hell,  maybe.' 

"'That  so?  Well,  Gloucester  or  hell,  drive 
her  you.' 

"  '  Oh,  I'll  drive  her.'  I  threw  it  back  in  his 
teeth  that  way,  spat  to  looard,  took  a  fresh  hold 
of  the  wheel,  and  did  drive  her  just  to  let  him 
know  he  couldn't  scare  me.  Cripes,  but  I  gave 
her  all  she  wanted! 

"  It  was  wicked,  though,  the  way  she  was  going. 
She  warn't  a  big  sailer,  the  Cromwell — George 
Hoodley  never  did  believe  in  the  racing  kind — but 
any  old  plug  could've  sailed  that  night.     Along 

103 


Truth  of  the  Oliver   Cromwell 

toward  midnight  it  got  thick  o'  snow,  I  mind, 
and  we  came  near  running  into  a  vessel  hove-to 
under  a  fores'l.  '  A  fisherman !  '  Dan  for'ard 
called  out,  and  as  we  shot  by  her  a  warning  hail 
came  to  us. 

11 '  What's  that  he  said? '  asked  the  Skipper  of 
Dan. 

"  '  Something  about  where  we're  bound  for,' 
answered  Dan. 

"  'That  so?  What's  it  of  his  business?'  and 
went  below  for  a  spell. 

"  From  the  wheel  I  could  see  him  taking  another 
drink  under  the  cabin  light.  He  had  got  to  where 
he  wasn't  bothering  to  pour  it  into  a  mug,  but  took 
it  straight  from  the  bottle — long  pulls,  too.  He 
came  on  deck  again  just  as  my  watch  and  Dan's  was 
up.  To  Charlie  Feeney,  who  was  next  man  to  the 
wheel,  I  said  that  the  Skipper  ought  to  be  spoken 
to  about  hauling  her  up.    So  Charlie  did. 

11 '  Who  in  the  devil's  name  is  skipper  of  this 
vessel,  anyway?  '  was  all  the  answer  he  got. 

"  Henry  Carsick,  who  was  Charlie's  dory-mate, 
said  he  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  '  I'm 
blessed  if  ever  I  knew  him  to  carry  half  this  sail 
in  a  breeze  before,  and  I've  been  with  him  three 
years,'  said  he  to  me  as  he  went  for'ard. 

u  Well,  Dan  and  me  hadn't  more  than  got  off 
our  oilskins  after  standing  watch,  when  a  hail  came 

104 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

from  Henry  on  watch  for'ard.  '  Some  kind  of  a 
roaring  ahead  of  us,'  repeated  Charlie  from  the 
wheel.  And  just  then  it  was  that,  leaping  like  a 
hound,  she  hit  something  good  and  hard — a  check, 
a  grinding  along  her  bottom,  a  rearing  of  her  bow. 
But  nothing  small  was  going  to  stop  her  the  clip  she 
was  going  then,  and  whatever  it  was,  she  was  clear 
of  it.  By  that  time  the  whole  crew  was  tumbling 
up  on  deck.  '  God  in  heaven,  what  is  it  ?  '  they 
called  out  one  to  another.  Another  leap  of  her, 
and  it  was  clear  white  astern  and  on  either  side. 
*A  wall  of  rock  ahead!'  said  Henry  Carsick, 
and  came  tumbling  aft — *  a  ledge  of  solid  rock, 
Skipper! ' 

"  *  Yes,'  said  the  Skipper,  in  a  kind  of  studyin' 
tone — '  and  it  was  hell  or  Gloucester,  warn't  it ' 
— he  turned  to  me.    *  I  said  it'd  be,  didn't  I  ?  f 

11  !  That's  what  you  did,'  said  I,  *  and  it  ain't 
Gloucester.  You  ought  to  be  proud  of  yourself — 
nineteen  men,  maybe,  lost  for  you — nineteen  men. 
I'm  not  counting  yourself — you  ought  to  be  lost. 
Will  we  put  a  dory  over?  ' 

"  '  Put  it  over,  if  you  want  to.  Do  what  you 
please.  I'm  done  with  this  vessel — I'm  done  with 
fishing.' 

"  '  I  guess  that's  right,'  says  I.  *  And  I  guess 
you  ain't  th'  only  one  that  gets  through  with  fishing 
to-night.'    Then  I  turned  to  the  crew:  *  What  d'y' 

105 


Truth  of  the  Oliver   Cromwell 

say  if  we  try  and  get  a  dory  over  and  see  what's 
around  us?  ' 

"  They  said  all  right,  and  we  unhooked  the 
tackles.  A  few  heaves,  and  up  went  the  dory  into 
the  air.  It  hung  there  for  a  second  or  two.  We 
tried  to  push  it  over,  but  the  wind  took  it,  tore  it 
from  us  and  dropped  it  into  the  sea.  The  sea  took 
it,  tossed  it  up  and  back  against  the  rail  and  on  to 
the  deck.  One  smash — another — another — and 
it  was  kindling-wood. 

11  *  Try  another,'  said  Dan,  who  was  standing 
by  the  rail  to  his  waist  in  water.  He  had  a  line 
about  his  waist,  and  that  was  all  kept  him  inboard. 
We  hoisted  another  dory  out  of  the  nest,  and  we 
had  to  fight,  even  as  we  were  hoisting,  for  a  footing 
on  her  deck,  it  was  that  steep  and  the  great  seas 
running  clean  over  her.  Up  into  the  air  we  hoisted 
the  second  dory — up  and  out  again.  Once  more 
the  howling  wind  and  the  boiling  sea  took  it — 
once  more  'twas  kindling-wood. 

"  '  There's  seven  more  left — try  another,'  said 
Dan.  A  great  man,  Dan.  If  I  go  to  sea  for  forty 
years  I  never  expect  to  see  a  better — I  could  'most 
cry  when  I  think  of  how  he  was  lost  that  night. 

"  '  One  of  my  hands  mashed  to  a  pulp,'  said 
somebody. 

"  *  Well,  we  can't  stop  to  doctor  you,'  I  called 
to  him.     *  Let  somebody  take  your  place  at  the 

106 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

tayckles.  Now  then,  lads.  I  don't  know  that  it'll 
do  any  good  when  we  do  get  it  over,  but  maybe  we 
c'n  take  a  look  around — maybe  find  a  landing-place 
somewheres.' 

"  *  I'll  go  in  her,'  calls  out  someone.  *  Give  me 
a  chance  now ' 

11  *  My  chance,'  said  Dan — "  my  chance,  ain't  it, 
Martin  ?  ' 

"  *  Yes,'  says  I  to  Dan,  and  looking  back  at  it 
now  I  say,  '  God  forgive  you,  Martin  Can*,'  and 
yet  'twarn't  no  fault  of  mine. 

"  Out  went  the  dory,  and  when  she  hung  for  a 
second  Dan  swung  himself  after  it.  He  made  it, 
and  called,  *  Pay  out  that  line !  '  and  dug  in  with 
the  oars.  We  could  just  see  him.  We  were  still 
paying  out  the  line,  we  could  still  hear  his  voice, 
when  '  Haul  in !  I  broke  an  oar !  '  he  called. 

"  '  Haul  in!'  said  I;  but  when  we  went  to 
haul  in  there  was  nothing  to  haul — the  line  had 
parted. 

u  *  God,  he's  gone  I '  said  somebody. 

11  *  That's  what  he  is,'  said  a  voice  beside  me — 
' 1  was  bound  he  would  be.' 

"  'Twas  the  Skipper.  From  by  the  rail  he  crept 
up  to  me  with  a  knife-blade  shining — a  bait-knife 
it  was,  the  same  he'd  had  all  night.  And  then  I 
knew  what  it  meant — he  had  cut  the  line.  I  stood 
away  from  him  first,  then   I   grabbed  him  and 

107 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

picked  him  up,  and  had  a  mind  to  heave  him  over 
the  rail,  and  then — I  don't  know  why — I  didn't. 
I  dropped  him  on  the  deck.  *  You'll  get  yours 
before  this  night's  over,'  I  said. 

"  *  A  devil  of  a  lot  I  care,'  he  said. 

"  The  rest  of  them,  or  at  least  those  that  warn't 
too  busy  with  the  next  dory  or  trying  to  look  out 
for  themselves,  called  out  to  ask  what  was  wrong 
with  the  two  of  us.  I  didn't  answer,  nor  did  the 
Skipper. 

11  Dan  was  the  first  to  go  that  night.  We  kept 
trying  to  launch  dories — trying,  but  losing  them — 
smashed  to  kindling-wood  they  were,  until  the 
whole  nine  of  them  were  gone.  During  that  time 
four  men  were  washed  over.  One,  with  a  line 
about  him,  made  a  desperate  try,  but  was  hauled 
back  dead,  I  mind.  We  laid  his  body  on  the  house, 
and  afterward,  when  I  went  to  look  for  it,  it  was 
gone — swept  over.    The  seas  were  wicked. 

"  The  wind  was  blowing  harder,  the  big  combers 
were  coming  even  higher,  and  the  gang  began  to  be 
washed  off  her  deck  and  lost  one  after  the  other. 
We  took  to  the  rigging  when  we  saw  'twarn't  any 
more  use  on  deck.  And  in  the  middle  of  it  all, 
what  d'y'  think  the  Skipper  did?  What  d'y'  think 
he  did,  the  man  that  was  the  cause  of  it  all?  Well, 
while  his  crew  were  going — to  heaven  or  hell,  as  it 
might  be — washed  over  and  lost,  one  after  the 

108 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

other — he  goes  below  and  has  a  mug-up  for  him- 
self. Yes,  sir,  goes  into  the  forec's'le  and  has  a 
mug  of  coffee  and  a  piece  of  pie.  Somebody  that'd 
seen  him  going  below  called  out  to  the  rest  of  us. 
The  Lord's  truth,  that.  And  the  rest  of  us  blas- 
phemed to  God,  we  were  that  black  with  rage 
against  him. 

"  Well,  there  was  ten  of  us,  I  think,  in  the  rig- 
ging, all  hoping  to  be  able  to  last  until  daylight, 
when  we  thought  we  might  be  able  to  see  where 
we  were.  Hoping  only — 'twas  not  expecting — for 
'twas  getting  colder,  with  the  spray  beginning  to 
freeze  where  it  struck  and  making  hard  work  of 
holding  on  to  the  rigging.  'Twas  wild — her  sails 
still  up,  with  the  reef  points  beating  a  devil's  tattoo 
where  the  canvas  warn't  tearing  up  and  flying  out 
like  long-tailed,  ghostly  things  in  the  blackness. 
Lashed  to  the  rigging  we  must've  been  for  all  of 
two  hours,  I  cal'late.  Some  began  to  take  note  of 
the  numbness  creeping  over  them — one  or  two — 
the  most  discouraged.  The  warmer-blooded,  or 
the  strongest,  tried  to  keep  up  a  cheering  talk — 
tried  to  crack  jokes  and  one  thing  or  another. 

"  Well,  we  had  hope,  some  of  us,  of  lasting 
through  the  night,  when  crack!  We  knew  what 
was  coming  then.  I  slipped  the  half-hitch  that  had 
been  holding  me  to  the  shrouds  and  climbed  higher. 
I  was  'most  to  the  mast-head,  clear  of  the  gaff,  when 

iog 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

over  the  side  went  her  forem'st,  half  a  dozen  men 
clinging  to  the  forerigging,  a-swaying  and  shaking; 
and  after  it  went  the  mainm'st,  with  four  more,  I 
think,  in  her  rigging. 

"  Well,  sir,  when  the  forem'st  went  I  was  thrown 
into  clear  water.  I  had  plenty  of  line  to  my  hand, 
with  a  turn  of  it  around  the  mast-head,  and  with 
that  I  hauled  myself  back.  I  hung  on  to  an  arm 
of  the  cross-trees  for  a  while  there  before  I  started 
to  work  my  way  back  along  the  mast  toward  the 
vessel.  I  didn't  believe  then  I'd  ever  live  to  reach 
the  vessel.  The  sail,  as  I  said,  had  been  kept  stand- 
ing on  her,  and  now  it  was  lying  flat  on  the  water, 
now  sagging  down  with  the  weight  of  the  water 
over  it,  and  now  bellying  into  the  air  when  a  great 
sea  would  get  under  it.  I  saw  a  shadow  of  a  man 
— hanging  on  to  a  reef  point  he  was — go  down 
with  that  sail  once,  then  go  up  with  it  once,  and 
then  the  sail  split  under  the  weight  of  the  sea,  and 
I  never  saw  him  again.  But  I  heard  him  holler 
as  he  went.  What  he  said  I  don't  know — I  had  to 
keep  on  crawling.  The  hoops  of  the  sail  were 
around  the  mast,  of  course,  and  I  used  them  and 
the  bolt-rope  of  the  fores'l  where  the  sail  was  torn 
away  to  pull  myself  along.  And,  mind  you,  I  had 
to  watch  out  for  the  forem'st  itself.  It  reared  and 
tossed  with  one  sea  after  another — me  astride  it 
most  of  the  time — like  a  man  on  horseback,  though 

no 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

hard  riding  enough  I  found  it.  The  least  little  tap 
of  that,  and  I  knew  where  I'd  be — bait  for  the 
fishes  that  I'd  baited  for  so  often.  Well,  between 
the  hoops  and  the  bolt-rope  and  the  rigging  I 
hauled  myself  along.  And  the  way  that  mast 
rolled !  Forty  times  I  swear  I  thought  I  was  good 
as  dead.  But  no.  And  so  I  dragged  myself  along, 
watching  out  when  I  went  upon  the  crests  and  hold- 
ing my  breath  when  I  was  pulled  down  into  the 
depths — hung  on  desperately,  mindful  that  the 
quietest  knock  of  that  big  spar  would  end  me  then 
and  there,  and  mindful,  too,  that  once  my  grip 
loosed  Fd  be  swallowed  up  in  the  roaring.  Tired 
I  was,  aye,  and  weak,  but  I  kept  on  working  toward 
the  vessel's  hull  always. 

"  Against  the  white  sails  and  white  foam  I  made 
out  two  others  struggling  like  myself.  '  That  you, 
Bill?  '  said  one.  *  Yes — that  you,  Mike?  '  I  heard 
from  the  other.  I  knew  who  they  were  then,  and 
called  out  myself.  Between  two  seas  one  slipped 
from  sight.  The  other  still  crept  on.  *  That  you, 
Bill?  '  I  called  out.  *  Bill's  gone,'  said  the  voice. 
'Twas  Mike  Cannon.  *  That's  tough,'  I  said.  *  It 
is  that,'  says  Mike,  *  after  the  fight  he  put  up. 
But  how're  you  making  out  yourself?  '  *  Pretty 
good;  how're  you?'  I  said.  *  Kind  of  tired.  I 
doubt  if  I'll  hold  out  much  longer — something 
smashed  inside  my  oilskins.    My  chest  and  a  few 

in 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

ribs,  I  think — and  one  arm,  too.  A  wild  night  and 
tough  going,  Martin.' 

14  There  was  no  more  chance  to  talk.  Two 
awful  seas  followed,  and  after  the  second  a  quiet 
spell — the  back  suction.  I  looked  around.  I 
thought  I  saw  Mike,  but  warn't  sure.  I  guess  now 
I  didn't,  for  another  sea,  the  biggest  of  all,  tossed 
the  whole  lot  of  wreckage  back  against  the  hull  of 
the  Cromwell.  There  was  a  grinding  and  a  bat- 
tering as  the  spars  met  the  hull.  Myself  up  in  the 
air,  I  looked  down  and  found  myself  over  her  deck, 
and  then — my  guardian  angel  it  mustVe  been  that 
whispered  me  then — I  let  go.  *  God  in  heaven  1 ' 
I  found  myself  saying,  and  fetched  up  on  her  deck, 
the  luckiest  man  in  all  the  North  Atlantic. 

"  Against  what  was  left  of  the  rail  I  found 
myself,  close  to  the  balance  of  the  forerigging. 
At  first  I  warn't  sure  just  where  I  was  at  all,  but 
that's  where  I  found  myself  when  my  eyes  were 
clear  to  see  again.  And  when  my  eyes  were  clear  I 
looked  around.  The  hull  of  her  was  heaving  to 
every  sea,  moving  inshore  maybe  a  foot  at  a  time, 
with  her  bowsprit  pointing  to  a  shadow  of  rock 
or  cliff  ahead.  I  looked  around  again,  and,  so  far 
as  I  could  make  out,  everything — house,  gurry-kids, 
booby-hatches,  everything — was  gone  off  her. 
Only  the  two  stumps  of  her  masts  seemed  to  be 
left  on  deck.     But,  no — the  forec's'le  hatch  was 

112 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

left.  Her  bow,  being  so  much  higher  than  her 
stern,  saved  that.  I  saw  that,  and — I  don't 
know  why — toward  the  forec's'le  I  crawled.  The 
hatches  were  closed.  I  slid  them  back.  Down  the 
steps  I  went,  and  when  I  was  below — I  don't  know 
why,  either — I  thought  of  the  razors  in  my  bunk. 
I  might's  well  get  them  couple  of  razors,  I  says  to 
myself,  and  starts  for  my  bunk,  which  was  in  the 
peak — the  same  bunk,  clear  forward  on  the  starb'd 
side,  that  the  Turkish-bath  lad  is  in  now.  'Twas 
like  swimming  down  there.  The  water  by  the  butt 
of  the  forem'st,  'bout  like  where  I'm  sitting  here 
to-night,  was  over  my  waist.  I  couldn't  help  think- 
ing then  how  deep  'twas,  and  getting  deeper  fast, 
with  the  seas  pouring  down  the  companionway.  I 
was  thinking  of  that — thinking  I  ought  to've  closed 
the  hatches  after  me — and  was  looking  back 
toward  the  steps,  when  I  heard  a  little  noise,  or 
thought  I  did,  for  the  pounding  of  the  seas  over- 
head was  making  an  awful  racket  and  I  warn't 
sure.  But  I  heard  it  again,  the  clinking  of  crock- 
ery like,  and  I  looked  around — back  behind  the 
steps — at  last,  and  there,  behind  the  stove,  leaning 
up  against  the  cook's  lockers — I'd  clean  forgot  him 
— was  the  Skipper.  He  was  having  another  mug- 
up  for  himself. 

"'God!'  I  said,  '  you  here?' 

"  He  half-turned,  dropping  a  coffee  mug  he  had 
"3 


Truth  of  the   Oliver  Cromwell 

in  his  hand.  Then  taking  a  second  look :  '  Man, 
but  I  thought  it  was  the  ghost  of  Dan  Spring.  But 
you  two  look  something  alike.  Come  to  think, 
you're  cousins,  ain't  you?  Man,  if  you  could  only 
see  yourself !  Blood,  blood,  and  bruises — and  your 
eyes,  man — your  eyes !  But  have  a  mug  of  coffee. 
Warn't  it  lucky?  here's  the  coffee-boiler  hove  up 
here  on  the  lockers,  and  some  coffee  still  left  in  it 
— and  hot.  And  there's  a  pie  in  the  grub  locker — 
on  the  top  shelf.  If  it'd  been  on  the  bottom  shelf 
it'd  be  all  wet  and  floating  around.  Ain't  that 
luck?  And  look  here — a  good  half  pint  of  whis- 
key left  yet!  It's  been  an  awful  night,  ain't  it? 
What  d'y' say?" 

"  He  held  the  bottle  toward  me.  I  took  it  from 
him  and  smashed  it  on  the  stove.  And  then  I  gave 
him  a  bit  of  my  mind.  *  And  so,  George  Hoodley, 
you're  so  afraid,  after  all,  to  go  to  your  death  that 
you  must  go  drunk,  hah  ?  The  soul  that  the  Lord 
gave  you — that  soul  is  going  from  a  drunken  body 
straight  to  the  God  that's  going  to  judge  you.  And 
how'll  you  be  judged,  d'y'  think,  for  this  night's 
work,  George  Hoodley?  Could  you  listen  to  what 
was  said  on  deck  to-night  and  not  die  of  fright  at 
what  you've  done?  Did  you  hear  Sam  Catiss? 
"  I'm  not  afraid  to  go,  if  go  I  must,"  says  Sam, 
"  but,  Lord,  there's  one  or  two  things  I  wish  I 
hadn't  done,"  says  Sam.  You  heard  him — we  all 
114 


He  was  having  another  mug-up  for  himself. 


Truth  of  the   Oliver   Cromwell 

heard  him — and  then  he  was  swept  over.  And  but 
for  you,  George  Hoodley,  maybe  he'd  have  had 
time  to  make  his  peace  before  he  went.  And  up  in 
the  rigging — you  warn't  there,  I  know — even  you, 
if  you'd  heard  what  Peter  Harkins  said  when  we 
all  knew  her  spars  were  going — when  Peter  heard 
the  first  crack  and  knew  what  it  meant ;  and  know- 
ing he  was  going,  with  his  last  free  breath  he  said 
things  of  you  that  if  I  had  an  enemy  I  wouldn't 
want  him  to  hear — not  if  I  hated  him  bad  enough 
to  want  to  see  him  in  the  bottom  of  the  deepest, 
hottest  hold  of  hell ' 

"  *  Hell !  '  he  breaks  in — *  there  ain't  no  hell — 
nor  heaven,  nor  God,  nor  anything.' 

"  *  God  forgive  you  for  that !    You ' 


"  *  God  forgive  me  ?  Martin,  you  talk  like  an 
old  woman.  I  tell  you,  since  I  was  no  higher  than 
one  of  my  jack-boots  I've  been  listening  to  talk  of 
hell  and  heaven — mostly  hell,  though — and  I  used 
to  believe  it  one  time.  Nobody  believed  it  any 
more  than  I  did  till  when — till  I  began  to  see  that 
the  very  people  that  was  talking  it  so  hard  warn't 
governed  by  what  they  said.  What  they  wanted 
was  everybody  else  to  be  governed  by  what  they 
preached.  I  tell  you  I  know.  I've  seen  it  in  my 
own  people — I  know  them  better  than  you  do.  It's 
years  now — I  was  one  of  the  fools,  one  that  never 
let  anybody,  I  thought,  get  the  best  of  me  at  any- 

ii5 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

thing.  You're  one — though  you're  a  good  man  in 
your  fool  way,  Martin.  I  had  no  grudge  against 
you,  not  even  when  I  tried  to  lose  you  in  the  dory. 
But  I  had  to  get  rid  of  your  dory-mate.' 

"  '  Get  rid  of  Dan?    And  why  Dan?  ' 

"  *  Why?  There  again  I  You  mean  to  tell  me 
you  don't  know?  ...  I  looked  around  before 
I  went  out  this  trip.  Nobody'd  tell  me,  but  I 
knew  his  first  name  was  Dan — Dan  something. 
One  day,  when  the  crew  was  out  hauling  the 
trawls,  I  rummaged  his  bunk  and  found  part  of 
a  letter  in  my  wife's  writing  under  his  mattress. 
That  was  the  same  day  I  ran  over  Dan  and  you 
in  the  dory.  'Twas  for  that  chance  I'd  been  pre- 
tending my  ankle  warn't  better.  Weak  ankle, 
bah !  '  He  drove  the  bad  foot  against  the  stove 
and  crushed  in  the  oven  door.  '  Anything  weak 
about  that  foot! — bah!  "Dear  Dan,"  the  note 
read — I  know  my  wife's  handwriting,  and  his 
name's  Dan.' 

"  *  Wait  a  bit — wait  a  bit.  How  do  you  know 
it  was  this  Dan?  Are  there  no  other  Dans  in 
Gloucester?  ' 

"  '  How  do  I  know?  And  it  in  his  bunk — under 
the  mattress  in  his  bunk.' 

"  *  That's  all  right.  And  whose  bunk  was  it 
before  Dan  Spring  got  it?  Another  Dan's,  warn't 
it — Dan  Powell's?    And  didn't  he  leave  the  mat- 

116 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

tress  behind  him  when  he  left  this  vessel,  trip  be- 
fore last?  Didn't  he?  And  warn't  Dan  Powell 
just  the  kind  of  a  man  that'd  do  a  thing  like  that, 
and  not  Dan  Spring,  my  own  cousin?  And  so 
that's  the  bottom  of  it?  Nineteen  souls  gone  be- 
cause you  thought — just  thought  only — that  one 
of  them  was  fooling  you.  And  for  a  woman  that 
warn't  worth  Dan  Spring's  little  finger.  That's 
the  truth,  George  Hoodley.  But  if  you'd  been 
brought  up  different,  if  you'd  studied  to  understand 
the  good  side  of  people,  instead  of  the  other  side, 
and  how  to  get  the  best  of  them  and  to  make  money 
out  of  them  and  save  it,  you  both  might've  come 
safe  out  of  it.  But  you  warn't  that  kind.  'Twarn't 
in  your  blood,  nor  in  none  of  your  people. 
Wrong's  wrong — I  got  nothing  to  say  about  that 
— but  human  nature's  human  nature.  Why  should 
you  expect,  George  Hoodley,  to  get  the  fine  things 
in  life?  Why  warn't  you  content  with  money? 
You'd  earned  that.  What  had  you  to  offer  a  hand- 
some young  woman  that  liked  a  good  time?  What 
had  you,  even  supposing  she  was  the  kind  you  could 
trust — anything  that  women  love?  Not  a  blessed 
thing.  You've  spent  your  life  with  about  one  idea 
in  your  head,  and  that  idea  had  nothing  to  do  with 
being  pleasant  or  kind  to  others,  or  good  to  any- 
body but  yourself.  Miles  away  from  the  kind  of 
thing  that  women  love  were  you  all  the  time.  You 
J 17. 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

come  to  nigh  fifty  year  of  age — you,  with  your 
hard  face  and  hard  mouth,  and  eyes  like — God! 
like  a  dead  fish's  eyes  to-night,  no  less — don't  you 
know  that  whoever  was  going  to  marry  you  warn't 
going  to  for  love?  You  had  a  right  to  marry 
some  lean  old  sour-mouthed  spinster  with  a  little 
money  like  yourself.  What  made  you  think 
that  beauty  and  love  was  for  you?  But  even 
in  marrying  you  thought  to  make  a  good  bargain 
— and  got  fooled.  And  by  the  daughter  of  a 
man  of  your  own  kind,  too.  D'y'  s'pose  her 
father  didn't  know?  God  help  you,  George 
Hoodley,  'twas  him  hooked  you — 'twas  him  made 
the  good  bargain,  not  you.  Why,  before  ever  you 
married  her  'twas  common  talk  she  warn't  the 
girl  for  any  man  to  trust.  But  what  good  is  it 
to  talk  of  that  now?  Nineteen  men  gone,  for 
I  don't  count  you — you're  no  man.  You're  a — 
But  I  won't  say  it.  Lord,  but  I'm  tempted  to 
choke  you  where  you  stand.  Only  when  I  think 
of  those  fine  men — and  poor  Dan  Spring " 

"  '  Dan  Spring?  Don't  tell  me  'twarn't  Dan 
Spring,  the ' 

11  *  Hold  up,'  I  says  to  that — *  hold  up,  or  close 
as  we  both  are  to  death  now  and  soon  to  go,  I'll 
choke  you  where  you  stand — I'll  send  you  to  your 
God,  or  to  the  devil,  with  the  print  of  my  fingers 
around  your  turkey  gobbler's  throat,  if  you  say 
118 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

aught  of  Dan.  Dan  was  my  own  kind  and  I 
knew  him.  Whatever  faults  he  had — and  maybe 
he  had  some — it  warn't  in  the  heart  of  Dan 
Spring  to  undervalue  good  women,  or  to  mix 
with  married  women  of  any  kind,  let  alone  the 
wife  of  a  man  he  was  to  go  ship-mate  with.  No, 
sir,  not  if  he  didn't  have  a  wife  and  children  of 
his  own — wife  and  children  that'll  have  to  suf- 
fer all  their  lives  because  of  you,  and  never 
know  what  brought  it  all  about.  But  years  from 
now  they'll  still  be  without  food  and  clothing 
because  of  you.  When  I  think  of  it,  George 
Hoodley,  I  misdoubt  they'd  count  it  against  me  in 
the  other  world,  where  we'll  both  be  soon  with 
the  others,  if  I  was  to  take  you  by  the  throat  and 
wind  my  fingers  around  your  windpipe,  and  choke 
and  choke  and  squeeze  and  squeeze  you  till  your 
tongue  came  out  and  your  eyes  popped,  and  your 
face  got  blue  and  then  black,  and  you ' 

11  He  drew  back  against  the  lockers  and  put 
his  hands  before  his  face.  '  Martin,  Martin, 
don't !  '  he  said;  for,  in  truth,  I  all  but  had  hold  of 
him  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  *  I'm  not  going  to,'  I  said.  *  I  have  enough 
already  to  account  for.  There's  two  or  three 
things  I  wish  I  hadn't  done,  and  maybe  if  I  sent 
you  to  death  a  few  minutes  sooner  than  you're 
going,  I'd  be  sorry  for  it,  too,  later  on.    I'm  going 

119 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

on  deck  now.  This  vessel  won't  last  much  longer. 
She's  breaking  as  it  is — and  up  to  our  chests  in 
water  here  now.' 

"  Well,  all  the  time  we  were  below  the  big  seas 
never  let  up.  Some  of  her  outside  planks  were 
working  loose  from  their  frames  when  I  left  him 
to  go  on  deck  again.  Her  deck  planking,  too,  was 
coming  apart.  I  almost  fell  into  her  hold  when 
I  was  coming  out  of  the  forec's'le.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do  quite,  but  climbed  up  on  toward  her 
bow  at  last,  hanging  on  where  I  could,  dodging 
seas  and  the  loose  bits  of  wreck  they  were  carrying 
with  them.  At  the  knight-heads  I  looked  around 
and  ahead.  Astern  and  to  either  side  'twas  noth- 
ing but  rocks  and  the  white  sea  beating  over  them. 
Ahead  I  could  make  out  a  wall  of  rock — I  guessed 
where  I  was — to  the  west'ard  of  Canso,  off  White- 
head. I  knew  that  coast,  and  a  bad  coast  it  was. 
Up  on  the  bowsprit,  crawling  out  with  the  help 
of  the  footropes  and  the  stops  hanging  down  and 
the  wreck  of  the  jib  and  stays,  I  began  to  think 
I  had  a  chance — if  I  could  only  live  till  the  day- 
light that  was  coming  on.  I  climbed  farther  out. 
Hard  work  it  was,  and  I  soon  cast  off  my  boots. 
At  the  end  of  the  bowsprit  I  got  a  better  look. 
A  dozen  feet  away  was  the  ledge  with  a  chance 
for  a  footing.  If  a  man  could  jump  that — but 
what  man  could,  from  a  vessel's  bowsprit?     But 

1 20 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

now  and  then,  perhaps  every  minute  or  so,  the 
bowsprit,  under  a  more  than  average  big  sea, 
lifted  and  sagged  a  little  nearer  the  cliff.  At  the 
right  time  a  man  might  make  the  leap,  I  thought. 
But  if  he  missed?  I  looked  down  with  the 
thought  and  saw  nothing  but  rocks  and  a  white 
boiling  below.  *  If  you  miss,  Martin,'  I  said  to 
myself,  '  maybe  you'll  live  five  seconds,  maybe 
ten — but  more  likely  maybe  you'd  keep  clear  of 
being  mashed  to  jelly  for  just  about  a  wink  of 
your  eye.'  And  'twas  enough  to  make  a  man 
wink  his  eyes  just  to  look  at  the  white  boiling  hell 
beneath.  I  cast  off  my  oilskin  jacket  while  I  was 
thinking  of  it,  and  then  my  oil  pants.  After  that 
went  my  jersey,  flannel  shirt,  and  trousers.  I 
meant  to  have  a  good  try  at  it,  anyway. 

"  Looking  back  before  I  should  leap,  who  did 
I  see  but  the  Skipper.  In  the  noise  of  the  sea  I 
had  not  heard  him.  He,  too,  had  cast  off  his 
boots  and  was  even  then  unbuttoning  his  oilskins. 
He  must've  known  I  was  watching  him,  for  he 
said,  *  Don't  throw  me  off,  Martin — don't ! ' 

11  *  Who's  going  to? '  I  asked. 

"  *  That's  right — don't.  Give  me  a  chance 
now,  Martin.' 

"  *  Like  you  gave  your  crew?  ' 

"  *  Oh,  don't,  Martin — don't!  I  was  crazy. 
All  that  I  said  about  not  believing  in  God  and 

121 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

hell,  I  didn't  mean  that.  I'm  afraid  of  it — 
afraid.  I  was  always  afraid  of  it,  but  never  like 
now,  Martin — never  so  afraid  of  the  burning  pit 
as  now — never,  never.  Help  me  up,  Martin — 
I'm  weak — I  can  hardly  stand.  Help  me,  won't 
you,  Martin?  You're  twice  the  man  I  am — no 
man  ever  sailed  with  me  had  your  strength,  Mar- 
tin.    Help  me,  won't  you,  Martin  ? ' 

81 1  lifted  him  up,  and  the  two  of  us  clung  to 
the  end  of  the  bowsprit.  He  looked  weak  as  water 
then,  and  I  pitied  him,  and  pitying  him  I  pointed 
out  what  chance  we  had.  *  There's  the  cliff,  and 
there's  what's  below.  It's  one  chance  in  ten  to 
a  man  that  can  leap  well.' 

11  *  I  never  could  leap  well,  Martin.' 

"  •  No,  you  couldn't — nor  do  anything  much 
that  other  boys  could  do — no  money  in  leaping, 
I  s'pose.  But  there  it  is — and  you  c'n  have  your 
choice.    Will  you  jump  first,  or  last  ? ' 

"  '  You  go  first,  Martin.  If  you  make  it, 
maybe  you  c'n  help  me — maybe  pass  me  a  bit  of 
line  or  something.  See,  I've  got  a  bit  of  line 
I  took  along.  You  go  first,  Martin — you  go  first. 
It's  an  awful  jump  to  take,  though.' 

11  '  There's  men  of  your  crew  took  more  awful 
jumps  to-night,  George  Hoodley.  They  jumped 
from  this  world  to  the  other  when  the  spars  went. 
Well,  I'm  going.     Give  me  room  to  swing  my 

122 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

arms.  Now,  if  I  miss,  good-by.  If  we  both 
miss,  then  I  s'pose  we'll  be  standing  up  and  giv- 
ing account  together  in  a  few  minutes.  I've  got 
enough  on  my  conscience,  but  I'm  glad  I'm  not 
you.  Stand  clear  of  me  now — when  she  lifts,  I'm 
going.' 

"  The  Cromwell  lifted.  Her  bowsprit  rose  up 
and  up  till  the  end  of  it  was  highei  than  the  ledge 
in  the  wall  of  rock  before  us.  I  waited  till  the 
last  little  second — till  the  bowsprit  swayed  in 
toward  the  cliff,  and  then,  while  it  balanced  there 
and  before  it  started  to  settle  again,  knowing,  as 
you  all  know,  the  power  that's  in  the  uplift  of  a 
sea,  I  gathered  myself  and  jumped.  And  'twas 
a  good  leap.  I  didn't  think  I  could  do  it,  cold 
and  numb  as  I'd  been  feeling.  A  good  leap,  yes. 
And  'twas  the  wet,  slippery  shelf  of  rock  I  landed 
on;  but  I  went  a  yard  clear,  and  even  when  I 
slipped  a  little  I  checked  myself  before  I  slipped 
back  to  the  edge,  and  was  safe.  Well,  I  lay  there 
till  I  felt  my  nerve  steady  again,  then  stood  up 
and  called  for  the  line  from  the  Skipper. 

"  *  Now,  when  you  jump,'  I  says,  *  I'll  get  what 
brace  I  can  here,  so  if  you  slip  on  the  edge  same's 
I  did  there'll  be  a  chance  to  save  you.  But  mind 
you,  George  Hoodley,  if  I  find  I  can't  hold  you 
up — if  it's  to  be  your  life  or  mine — it's  you  that's 
got  to  go.      Mind  that     And  hurry — throw  it 

123 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

quick,  or  I'll  cast  off  the  line  altogether.  That 
bowsprit  won't  be  there  in  a  few  minutes,  maybe. 
Hurry  up ! ' 

"  *  But  you'll  hang  on,  won't  you,  Martin? 
You've  got  the  strength,  if  you  want  to  use  it.' 

"  *  Jump,  man,  jump  afore  you  lose  your  nerve 
entirely,'  I  hollers. 

"  He  threw  the  line  to  me,  after  taking  one  end 
of  it  around  his  waist.  The  other  end  I  took 
around  my  waist,  my  end  half  hitched  so  I  could 
slip  it  in  a  hurry.  I  warn't  throwing  my  life  away 
for  him,  if  I  knew  it. 

"  Well,  he  jumped  at  last.  And  the  bowsprit 
rose  full  as  high  and  gave  him  full  as  good  a 
chance  as  I'd  got.  But  even  so  he  fell  a  little 
short.  His  feet  only  caught  the  edge  of  the  shelf. 
He  staggered,  and  seeing  how  it  was,  I  braced 
my  feet  well  as  I  could  and  hauled.  He  came  in, 
sagged  away,  I  bracing  my  feet — they  were  slip- 
ping. In  a  crack  in  the  rock  of  the  ledge  I  dug 
the  fingers  of  one  hand,  the  other  hand  to  the 
line,  and  hung  on.  We  were  gaining;  he  was 
fairly  on  his  feet,  and  I  felt  the  strain  easing, 
when  a  sea  that  swept  up  the  side  of  the  cliff 
like  a  tidal  wave  took  him  clear  of  everything.  It 
would  have  swept  me,  too,  but  I  gripped  where 
I  could  get  a  hold,  with  the  fingers  of  my  one 
loose  hand  in  the  crack  in  the  rocks,  and  hung 

124 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

on  there — one  hand  to  the  crack  and  the  other  to 
the  line — hung  on  so,  supporting  the  weight  of 
myself  and  the  Skipper,  until  I  felt  my  muscles 
getting  hot  and  heavy  and  my  breath  coming  fast. 
He  was  floundering  somewhere  on  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  I  hollered  to  him,  though  feeling  almost 
certain  he  was  battered  to  pieces  by  then — '  How 
is  it  with  you,  George — how  is  it,  man  ? '  but 
there  was  no  answer.  Again  I  hollered,  and  again 
no  answer.  And  then,  when  I  was  satisfied  that 
it  was  only  the  last  ounce  of  strength  I  had  left, 
I  called  out,  *  Help  yourself,  George — why  don't 
you  help  yourself?'  No  answer.  Once  more  I 
called,  and  once  more  getting  no  answer,  I  knew 
then  he  must've  been  beaten  to  death  against  the 
rocks,  and  that  'twas  his  dead  weight  was  hanging 
to  me.  And  yet  I  called  once  more  to  make  sure. 
But  still  getting  no  answer,  *  The  Lord  have 
mercy  on  your  soul,  George  Hoodley,'  I  said,  and 
let  slip  the  line." 

Toward  the  end  of  Martin's  story  it  had  be- 
come very  quiet  in  the  forec's'le.  Nobody  said 
anything,  neither  broke  in  with  a  question  nor 
offered  any  comment,  until  after  a  long  silence, 
and  then  not  until  after  Martin  himself  had  re- 
peated absently,  as  if  to  himself,  and  after  a  long 
indrawn  breath,  "  And  then  I  let  slip  the  line." 
125 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

Only  then  did  he  look  around  and  seem  to  realize 
that  he  was  not  on  the  ledge  off  Whitehead. 

11  And  after  you  cast  off  the  line,  what  then, 
Martin  ?" 

"  Well,"  resumed  Martin,  "  the  weight  being 
gone  made  a  great  difference  to  me,  but  it  was 
quite  a  while  before  I  could  stand  on  my  feet. 
Even  then  I  didn't  have  the  courage  to  look 
down  right  away,  but  climbing  to  one  side  to  the 
very  top  of  the  cliff,  I  laid  flat  on  my  stomach 
and  looked  over  the  edge.  'Twas  good  light  then, 
and  I  could  see  the  body  of  George  Hoodley  be- 
low— tossing  about  like  an  eggshell,  as  if  'twas 
no  more  than  sea-weed  in  a  sea-way.  And  that 
was  the  end  of  it.  Even  if  he  warn't  dead  at  the 
time — even  if  he  warn't  dead  when  I  let  go  the 
line  and  it  had  to  be  me  or  him,  it  ought  toVe 
been  him.  If  it  was  a  friend,  now — if  it  was 
Dan,  say — I  don't  know  what  I  would  do.  I 
hope  I'd  have  the  strength  not  to  cast  loose  the 
line." 

It  was  very  quiet  again.  The  boot-heels  of  the 
new  watch  on  deck,  the  rasping  of  the  booms  as 
the  vessel  jibed,  the  whistle  of  the  rising  gale, 
the  slap  of  the  sea  outside  them,  the  Skipper's 
voice  on  deck,  the  atmosphere,  stirred  Martin 
again.  "  'Twas  a  night  like  this  we  swung  the 
Cromwell  off  to  the  west'ard.     I  shouldn't  won- 

126 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

der  but  what  he'd  be  takin'  the  mains'l  off  her 
soon,  won't  he?" — this  to  the  old  watch,  who 
had  just  come  down  the  companion-way  and  was 
wringing  his  mitts  out  by  the  stove. 

"The  mains'l,  Martin?"  repeated  the  watch 
in  surprise.  "  Why,  the  mainsTs  been  off  her  for 
hours — she's  under  a  trys'l  and  jumbo." 

"  The  mains'l,  Martin,"  explained  one,  "  was 
taken  off  her  just  after  you  and  Johnnie  were 
taken  aboard.  You  were  pretty  tired  and  didn't 
notice,  maybe,  at  the  time." 

14  Lord,  I  must've  been  tired — not  to  know  it 
when  the  mains'l's  taken  off  a  vessel  I'm  in. 
There  was  never  a  minute  the  night  the  Cromwell 
was  lost  that  I  was  tired  as  that.  No,  sir,  not 
even  when  I  laid  on  the  cliff  in  the  morning  and 
looked  down  for  George  Hoodley's  body." 

"  Speakin'  of  that,  Martin,  didn't  some  of  the 
bodies  come  ashore?"  This  from  the  cook,  who 
incidentally,  feeling  a  little  less  hurried,  was  put- 
ting a  few  shovels  of  coal  into  the  stove  before  he 
should  turn  in  for  the  night. 

"  There  were  two  bodies  came  ashore,"  re- 
sumed Martin.  u  And  that  was  a  sad  thing,  too. 
I  was  going  up  to  see  if  I  couldn't  get  some 
clothes  to  hide  my  nakedness,  and  maybe  a  pair 
of  boots  and  a  bite  to  eat  and  a  bit  of  fire  to  warm 
up  by  somewhere,  when   I   met  a   man.      'Twas 

127 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

good  light  by  then.  He  was  coming  down  a  bit 
of  beach  behind  the  cliff.  I  told  him  my  vessel 
had  been  wrecked,  and  I  was  all  that  was  left  of 
the  crew.  And  he  fixed  me  up  as  well  as  he 
could  and  came  back  with  me  to  the  beach,  and 
there's  where  the  sad  part  came  in.  One  of  the 
Cromwell's  crew,  Angus  MacPherson,  had  been 
fishing  out  of  Gloucester  twelve  years,  and  every 
fall  he  said  he  was  going  home  to  see  the  old 
people.  I  knew  that  as  well  as  I  knew  that  he'd 
been  sending  money  home  regularly  to  the  old 
people.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Angus  they'd' ve 
had  a  hard  time  of  it,  I  cal'late,  those  twelve 
years.  Well,  he  never  went  home,  as  he  said; 
but  here  was  the  very  place  Angus  came  from, 
and  this  was  the  way  he  came  home  at  last.  That 
same  afternoon  I  helped  to  bury  him  and  to  carry 
his  old  mother  away  from  the  grave  when  she 
couldn't  carry  herself.  God  help  us,  but  there's 
hard  spots  in  life,  ain't  there? 

"  The  other  body  that  came  up  was  the  Skip- 
per's. And  him  I  went  to  Gloucester  with.  And 
maybe  there'd  be  no  more  to  that,  but  getting  into 
the  Gloucester  station,  just  as  the  train  hauled  up, 
who  should  happen  to  be  at  the  station  but  the 
Skipper's  wife — his  widow,  then,  of  course.  She 
knew  well  enough  what  had  happened — every- 
body in  Gloucester  knew — the  papers  full  of  it  the 

128 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

day  before;  but  she  didn't  know  that  I,  the  one 
man  saved  from  the  wreck,  was  on  the  train. 
Nobody  knew.  I  didn't  send  any  word  ahead. 
It  was  only  three  days  since  the  vessel  was  lost, 
but  was  she  crying  her  eyes  out  ?  Was  she  ? — the 
— the —     But  I  won't  say  it. 

"  I  goes  up  to  her.  '  Mrs.  Hoodley,'  says  I, 
*  I've  brought  home  your  husband's  body  for 
burial.' 

"  D'y'  think  she  thanked  me?  Indeed,  I  saw 
by  her  face  I'd  made  a  mistake  not  to  bury  him 
with  Angus  down  Whitehead  way.  And  then  she 
makes  eyes  at  me — God's  truth — makes  eyes  at 
me,  while  the  box  that  her  husband's  corpse  was 
in — and  I  knew  what  a  battered,  bloody  corpse 
it  was — was  being  lifted  out  of  the  baggage-car 
and  put  into  a  wagon.  She  gave  orders  then  and 
there  to  have  it  taken  straight  to  the  graveyard; 
and  when  it  was  buried,  mind  you,  she  warn't 
there — not  even  for  decency's  sake.  But  going 
from  the  station  while  her  husband's  body  was 
being  carried  away,  she  held  her  head  up  and  took 
note  of  who  was  looking  at  her.  That's  what  she 
liked — people  to  notice  her.  And  looking  at  her 
I  cursed  George  Hoodley  for  a  fool  that  didn't 
drown  her  if  he  was  bound  to  drown  somebody, 
instead  of  the  man  that  he  thought  had  wronged 
him.     So  there  you   have  it — the  truth  of  the 

129 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

Oliver  Cromwell — the  part  that  didn't  get  into 
the  papers." 

"  What  was  it  the  papers  did  say  about  it, 
Martin?" 

11  Oh,  what  they  said  was  pretty  near  right  so 
far  as  it  went,  but  they  didn't  know  the  whole 
truth,  and  don't  yet.  They  said  a  word  or  two 
'bout  his  leaving  a  wife.  No  great  harm  done  in 
that,  I  s'pose.  As  for  himself,  they  said  he  was 
thrifty,  and  hard-working,  and  careful — gen'rally 
careful,  they  might've  said — and  successful.  And 
so  he  was,  I  s'pose.  But  I  think  I'll  be  turning 
in,  for  after  all  there's  nothing  like  a  good  sleep, 
is  there  ?  Where's  Johnnie  ?  Still  asleep  ?  Well, 
he's  the  wise  lad  to  be  getting  his  good  sleep 
'stead  of  listening  to  my  long-winded  stories. 
Maybe  if  we  all  turn  in  there'll  be  more  of  us 
good  and  strong  to  haul  a  trawl  again  to-morrow." 
He  picked  up  his  pipe.  It  was  cold.  "  And  now 
there's  something.  The  man  that'd  invent  some- 
thing to  keep  a  pipe  going  when  you  lay  it  down 
without  smokin'  itself  all  up'd  make  a  lot  of 
money,  wouldn't  he?  And  yet  maybe  it's  just 
as  well  for  some  of  us.  I  cal'late  I've  smoked 
enough,  anyway." 

"  But,  Martin,  before  you  turn  in,  what's  be- 
come of  Hoodley's  widow?  " 

"  Oh,  her?  She  and  Dan  Powell  got  married 
130 


Truth  of  the  Oliver  Cromwell 

since,  and  they're  both  getting  all  that's  coming 
to  them.  He'll  go  out  and  get  lost  some  day  too, 
maybe,  to  get  away  from  her.  I  wouldn't  be  sur- 
prised, anyway,  if  he  did.  Only  before  he  goes, 
being  a  different  kind  of  a  man  from  George 
Hoodley  and  knowing  women  of  her  kind  better, 
he  won't  worry  so  much  about  the  man  as  about 
her.  He'll  see  that  she's  put  out  of  the  way  be- 
fore he  sails — or  at  least  that's  my  idea  of  it; 
or  maybe  it's  only  that  I  half  hope  he  will.  But 
I  think  I'll  be  turning  in." 

He  tucked  his  pipe  away  under  his  mattress, 
slipped  out  of  his  slip-shods,  slacked  away  his  sus- 
penders, and  laid  his  length  in  his  bunk.  He  was 
about  to  draw  the  curtain,  but  his  eye  catching  the 
eye  of  the  watch,  who  was  then  hauling  off  his  wet 
boots,  he  had  to  ask,  "  What's  it  look  like  for 
the  morning,  Stevie — what'd  the  Skipper  say?  " 

"  He  says  that  unless  it  moderates  a  bit  more 
than  it  looks  as  if  'twill  now,  we'll  stay  aboard 
in  the  morning." 

"  Well,  here's  one  that  ain't  sorry  to  hear  that. 
I  don't  mind  sayin',  now  that  it's  all  over,  that 
hanging  on  to  the  bottom  of  that  dory  warn't  any 
joke  to-day.  I'm  good  and  tired.  'Twas  a  night 
like  this  we  headed  the  Cromwell  to  the  west'ard. 
*  Hell  or  Gloucester,'  says  he,  and  hell  it  was  for 
him.    Good-night." 

131 


STRATEGY   AND   SEAMANSHIP 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 


HARRY  GLOVER,  master  of  the  Calumet, 
was  generally  admitted  to  be  a  great 
diplomat;  he  himself  allowed  he  was  a  little  some- 
thing that  way.  And  everybody  said  he  must  be 
— diplomat,  strategist,  or  whatever  it  was — else 
how  could  he,  a  man  who  had  never  had  even 
ordinary  luck  at  bank  fishing,  induce  so  shrewd 
a  man  as  Fred  Withrow,  something  of  a  schemer 
too,  to  build  him  a  fine  vessel  like  the  Calumet  and 
send  him  to  the  Newfoundland  coast  for  frozen 
herring  on  a  trip  wherein  an  owner  stood  to  lose 
more  money  possibly,  should  things  go  wrong, 
than  in  any  other  venture  of  fishermen. 

The  Calumet  was  lying  into  Little  Haven, 
Placentia  Bay,  when  Glover,  sitting  in  his  cabin, 
heard  a  hail  and  an  inquiry  for  Captain  Marrs  of 
the  Lucy  Foster, 

Glover,  ever  wide  awake,  was  on  deck  in  an 
instant.  It  was  a  man  in  a  boat  and  looking  tired. 
11  Captain  Marrs,  did  you  say?  "  asked  Glover. 

135 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

"  Yes,  sir — Captain  Wesley  Marrs." 

"  Why,  he  was  here,  but  he's  gone." 

"  Been  gone  long?  " 

M  Oh,  two  days  now." 

The  messenger  looked  discouraged.  "  Did  he 
say  where  he  was  going  to,  sir?  " 

u  Why,  yes — but  you  look  froze  up.  Come 
aboard.  You  don't  never  take  a  little  touch  of 
anything — something  nice  and  warm  from  Saint 
Peer — something  that'll  melt  the  frost  inside  your 
chest  afore  you  know  you  got  it  down — or  do 
you?  On  a  cold  day  like  this,"  insinuated  Cap- 
tain Glover,  "  with  frost  in  the  air  and  maybe  a 
long  row  ahead  of  you." 

"  It  is  more  than  a  common  cold  day,"  as- 
sented the  messenger. 

"Cold  day!  I  should  say!  Why,  I  don't 
know  how  you  ever  stood  it  comin'  as  far  away 
as  you  did — ten  miles,  did  you  say  you  came?" 

"Ten  mile?  Ten  mile?"  snorted  the  mes- 
senger. 

"  Ten  miles.  Why,  yes.  Ain't  that  what  it 
is  to  Saint  Mary's?" 

"  Saint  Mary's?  I  didn't  come  from  no  Saint 
Mary's.  I  came  from  Folly  Cove — eighteen 
mile." 

"Lord,  but  you  don't  tell  me!  What  d'y' 
say,    now — another    little    touch?     Let    me    see. 

136 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

Who's  that  fellow  down  there  who's  such  a  great 
hand  to  get  herring  ?  Let  me  see  now — Johnson  ? 
Burke?  No,  not  Burke.  Robbins?  No,  not 
Robbins,  nor  Lacey.  That's  queer — I  know  him 
so  well  and  yet  can't  remember  his  name." 

"Do  you  mean  Rose,  John  Rose?"  suggested 
the  messenger. 

11  Rose,  is  it?    Is  it  Rose  you've  come  from?" 

"  Yes,  sir— John  Rose." 

11  That's  it,  come  to  think  of  it,  old  John 
Rose." 

"  Why,  he  ain't  so  old." 

"  No  ?  Well,  it's  so  long  since  I've  seen  him. 
Have  another  little  touch,  and  don't  be  afraid  of 
it.  There's  another  jug  when  that  one's  empty. 
Seen  John  lately?" 

"  Seen  him  ?  I  should  say.  Last  man  I  spoke 
to  before  I  left." 

"  That  so?    Any  herring  down  there?  " 

"  A  few.  But  I  must  be  getting  along.  Rose'd 
talk  to  me  if  he  knew  I've  been  loafing  here. 
Which  way,  Captain,  did  you  say  I'd  find  Captain 
Marrs?" 

Glover  carefully  headed  the  messenger  about 
as  far  off  Wesley  Marrs's  course  as  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Placentia  Bay  would  admit.  He 
waited  just  long  enough  for  the  messenger  to 
double    the    nearest    headland,    then    up    anchor, 

137 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

made  sail,  and  away  for  Folly  Cove.  It  was  ten 
in  the  morning  when  he  weighed  anchor,  and 
early  afternoon  found  him  knocking  at  the  door 
of  John  Rose's  little  house. 

He  at  once  introduced  himself.  "  Captain 
Glover  of  the  Calumet.  But  maybe  you've  been 
expecting  me." 

"  Not  that  I  knows  of,"  said  Rose. 

"  What,  ain't  Captain  Marrs  sent  word  yet?" 

"Word  from  Captain  Marrs?  Why,  it  was 
him  I  was  expecting." 

u  I  know — I  know,  but  he's  sailed  for  home. 
By  this  time  I  cal'late  he's  to  the  west'ard  of 
Miquelon,  streaking  it  across  the  Gulf,  laying  to 
it  for  home.  Filled  up,  did  Wesley,  night  afore 
last,  at  Little  Haven." 

11  Filled  up  at  Little  Haven?  Why,  when  did 
any  herrin'  hit  in  there?  " 

14  Two  days  ago.  And  Wesley  got  'em.  And 
the  last  thing  he  said  afore  wearing  off  was, 
1  Harry,  you  know  I  got  some  good  friends  across 
the  bay,  and  maybe  one  or  two  of  'em'll  be  having 
some  herrin'  saved  up  for  me  after  this  cold  snap. 
If  you  hear  of  any  and  can  help  any  of  'em  out 
by  taking  'em  off  their  hands  at  a  fair  price,  why, 
I'll  consider  it  a  great  favor — a  great  favor  to 
me,  Harry.  There's  John  Rose  down  to  Folly 
Cove,  a  great  friend  of  mine.     I'll  send  him  word 

138 


Strategy  and   Seamanship 

'bout  you,  Harry,  so  in  case  he  gets  hold  of  any 
he'll  maybe  let  you  have  'em.'  Wesley  and  me's 
great  friends,  you  see,  Mr.  Rose,  and  Wesley, 
no  doubt,  thinkin'  there  mightn't  be  any  market, 
wanted  to  do  you  a  good  turn  too." 

"  Oh,  there's  plenty  market.  Herrin's  been 
that  scarce  this  winter  that  people  been  from  every- 
where lookin'  for  a  load — yes.  But  I  was  savin' 
them  for  Wesley.  But  if  Wesley's  gone,  and 
you're  such  a  great  friend  of  Wesley's — any 
friend  of  Wesley's  a  friend  of  mine — and  sailin* 
from  the  same  firm  in  Gloucester,  you  say?" 

11  The  same  firm,  the  Duncans." 

"That  so?  Well,  I  can't  say  as  ever  I  heard 
Wesley  speak  of  you  or  any  mention  of  your 
name  down  this  way  before — but  that  ain't  ex- 
traor'nary,  maybe.  Anyway,  being  as  you're  a 
friend  of  Wesley's,  you  can  have  them  herrin' 
just  the  same  as  if  you  was  Wesley  himself." 

The  loading  of  the  Calumet  was  a  record  per- 
formance.    By  dark  she  was  off  and  away. 

And  as  she  cleared  the  last  headland  of  Pla- 
centia  Bay,  as  she  squeezed  by  Shag  Rocks  and 
left  Lamalin  astern,  Captain  Harry  Glover  had 
to  laugh  aloud.  "  O  Lord,  but  I  call  that  getting 
ahead  of  a  man!"  he  chuckled.  "It  was  too 
easy.     Talk  about  strategy !  " 


139 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 


II 

The  Lucy  Foster  was  lying  into  Big  Whale 
Gut  with  Wesley  Marrs  chafing  to  complete  his 
cargo.  Five  hundred  barrels  would  just  about  fill 
her  up — fill  her  up  nicely. 

A  man  in  a  rowboat  came  into  the  cove.  The 
one  sail  on  the  boat  had  evidently  been  blown 
away,  for  only  some  strips  of  canvas  were  tied  to 
the  little  mast. 

Wesley  Marrs,  leaning  against  the  main  rigging 
of  the  Lucy,  watched  the  weary  oarsman  ap- 
proach. 

"  Looks  as  if  he'd  been  boxin'  the  compass  in 
strange  waters,"  commented  Wesley  meditatively. 
"What's  wrong?  "  he  hailed. 

"  Captain  Marrs?" 

14  Yes." 

"  Fve  been  three  days  looking  for  you,  Captain 
Marrs.  But  I  don't  cal'late  you  have  such  a  thing 
as  a  drink  of  good  liquor  aboard,  have  you,  Cap- 
tain?    I'm  most  famished." 

Wesley  said  no  more — only  led  the  way  to  the 
cabin  and  handed  out  a  jug,  a  jug  so  full  that 
from  it  the  cork  was  yet  to  be  taken  for  the  first 
time.  The  messenger  took  the  cork  out  and  with- 
out help.     He  bit  it  out,  and  let  the  red  rum  of 

140 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

old  Saint  Pierre  gurgle  down  after  the  manner 
in  which  all  men  said  it  should. 

"Good?"  asked  Wesley. 

The  messenger  sucked  in  his  cheek  and  his  lips 
kissed  together  lingeringly.  "  Good — m — m — 
you  ought  to  try  it  yourself,  Captain  Marrs." 

Wesley  did  try  it — a  small,  safe  drink.  "  It 
is  good,  ain't  it?"  and  was  about  to  put  it  back 
in  the  locker  of  his  stateroom — was  about  to,  but 
looking  around  and  observing  that  wistful  gather- 
ing he  hadn't  the  heart.  Six  of  his  own  crew 
and  a  dozen  natives  were  there,  and  they  passed  it 
along  the  locker,  though  not  too  rapidly.  When 
Wesley  got  it  back  he  "  hefted  "  it.  It  felt  pretty 
light.  He  shook  it  up.  Gauging  by  sound  was 
a  good  way,  too,  when  the  jug  itself  was  heavy. 
It  was  light.  "  Lucky  'twas  the  little  jug,"  said 
Wesley,  and  he  laid  it  at  his  feet  with  a  sigh. 
"  But  what  was  it  you  was  goin'  to  say?"  he 
asked  of  the  boatman  he  had  rescued  from  fam- 
ishing. 

"  John  Rose,  of  Folly  Cove — you  know  him, 
Captain?  " 

"  For  more  than  twenty  year.  But  what  of 
him?" 

"  Well,  John's  got  five  hundred  barrels  of  as 
fine  frozen  herrin'  as  ever  a  man  laid  eyes  on,  and 
he  says  for  you  to  come  and  get  'em." 

141 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

"  Five  hundred  barrels?  Man,  but  that's  good 
news — better  have  another  little  touch." 

After  that  second  drink,  the  boatman,  who  had 
been  nursing  a  few  little  suspicions  for  two  days 
now,  thought  he  had  better  tell  Captain  Marrs  of 
his  meeting  with  Captain  Glover.  And  he  did, 
or  rather  began  to.  He  was  about  one-quarter 
through  when  Wesley  jumped  for  the  companion- 
way.  "  Break  out  the  anchor  and  make  sail," 
ordered  Wesley,  and  then,  dropping  back  into  the 
cabin,  and  suggesting  to  the  boatman  that  he  had 
better  have  one  more  drink,  he  started  to  fill  his 
pipe.  With  his  pipe  going  freely  Wesley  could 
think  more  rapidly — could  fathom  things  more 
surely. 

"  Harry  Glover,"  said  Wesley,  to  himself  as  he 
supposed,  but  really  half  aloud,  "  I  know  you, 
Harry  Glover,  and  your  father  and  your  grand- 
father afore  you,  and  all  the  rest  of  your  fore- 
people  on  Cape  Ann  by  hearsay,  and  not  one  of 
you  I'd  trust  with  so  much  as  the  price  of  a  bait- 
knife — no.  Now,  let's  see — Glover,  he's  got  them 
herrin'." 

"  But  how's  he  going  to  get  'em,  Captain? 
John  Rose  is  keepin'  'em  for  you,"  said  the  belated 
boatman  at  this  point. 

"  Who  in  the  devil,"  began  Wesley,  but  recover- 
ing himself,  pushed  the  jug  toward  the  messenger. 
142 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

11  About  one  more  drink  is  what  you  need,  and  that 
about  empties  the  jug,  too.  Take  it  and  keep  quiet, 
or  I'll  carry  you  up  on  deck  and  heave  you  over 
the  rail,  and  heave  the  jug  after  you  to  make  sure 
you  go  down. 

"  Let's  see,  now  " — Wesley  resumed  his  medita- 
tions— "  he's  got  them  herrin'  and  off  long  afore 
this.  Now,  where'll  he  go  first?  To  Saint  Peer? 
That's  it,  to  Saint  Peer  for  a  few  cases  of  wine  to 
take  home.  And  then?  To  Canso,  of  course,  to 
see  that  girl  that's  makin'  such  a  fool  of  him.  Yes, 
and  he'll  make  a  great  fellow  of  himself  by  givin' 
a  case  of  cassy  wine  to  her  people.  It's  most 
Christmas-time,  and  he'll  make  a  great  hit,  and  it 
won't  cost  him  too  much — a  dozen  bottles  of  cassy. 
And  then  ?  Then  he'll  tell  the  girl,  and  everybody 
else  in  Canso,  that  he's  the  first  vessel  to  leave  New- 
f'undland  with  anything  like  a  load  of  frozen 
herrin'  this  winter.  And  he'll  be  right — he'll  be 
easy  the  first  to  Gloucester  this  season — or  oughter 
be.  And  '  Let  me  tell  you  how  I  filled  up,'  he'll 
say,  and  go  on  to  spin  a  fine  yarn  on  how  he  got  the 
best  of  Wesley  Marrs.  Never  let  on  he  lied  and 
cheated,  not  Mister  Glover.  And  they'll  think  he's 
a  devil — yes,  sir,  a  clean  devil  of  a  man.  '  And 
Wesley  Marrs,'  he'll  go  on  to  say,  *  Wesley's  all 
right — he  can  handle  a  vessel  pretty  well,  can 
Wesley,  but  when  he  gets  to  figurin'  against  Harry 

143 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

Glover — '  "  Wesley  drew  a  breath — "  If  I  get 
near  enough  to  lay  my  hands  on  him  and  don't  welt 
the  head  off  him,  then  may  the  dogfish  get  me 
and " 

"  Anchor's  hove  short  up,  sir,"  came  down  the 
companion-way. 

Wesley  took  the  jug  from  the  messenger  and 
locked  it  up.    Then  he  went  on  deck. 

Five  minutes  later  the  Lucy  Foster  was  off 
and  away.  "  I'll  chase  him,"  muttered  Wesley, 
"  chase  him  clear  to  Gloucester,  but  I'll  get  him," 
and  himself  standing  close  to  the  wheel,  he  drove 
the  Lucy  out  of  Big  Whale  Gut  and  across  Pla- 
centia  Bay. 

"Just  a  minute  at  Folly  Cove  to  drop  this 
blessed  fool  of  a  messenger  John  Rose  sent,  and 
just  another  minute  to  hail  John  himself  and  make 
certain,  and  then  across  the  Gulf  to  Canso,"  said 
Wesley,  and  stood  on  the  Lucy's  quarter  and 
watched  her  go  along. 

Ill 

It  was  night,  and  a  northeast  gale  and  falling 
snow  was  making  the  thick  night  thicker.  The 
Lucy  Foster  had  come  across  the  Gulf  like  a  run- 
away horse,  and  now  they  were  expecting  to  strike 
in  somewhere. 

144 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

Wesley  was  standing  aft,  when  a  long,  low, 
warning  moan  came  to  them  over  the  water. 
"  There's  the  whistle — we  ought  to  see  Cranberry 
Light  soon — watch  out." 

The  forward  watch,  hanging  on  to  her  fore- 
rigging  and  peering  sharply  ahead,  soon  called 
out:      "  There    it    is — no — it's    a    vessel's    port 

light." 

Wesley  looked.  "  'Tis  a  vessel,  sure  enough, 
and  hove-to,  ain't  she?  Maybe  we'd  better  speak 
her  " — this  last  to  the  man  at  the  wheel.  The 
helmsman  brought  her  up,  and  "  Hi-i !  "  roared 
Wesley. 

"  Hi-i !  "  came  back—"  who're  you?  " 

Wesley  swore  softly.  "  Harry  Glover,  by  the 
Lord!  Here,  Charlie,  you  answer  him.  There 
ain't  many  knows  you.  Ask  him  what's  wrong 
— and  don't  get  too  near  him,  you  to  the 
wheel." 

"  What's  wrong?  "  called  Charlie  Green. 

"  Nothin' — just  waitin'  for  a  chance  to  go  into 
Canso." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  in — what's  holdin' 
you  back?  " 

"Why?  Too  thick  to  make  the  harbor  to- 
night." 

"  Ask  him,  Charlie,"  said  Wesley,  "  what  kind 
of  a  man  he  holds  himself  that  he's  afraid  to  make 
145 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

a  harbor  to-night?  "  Which  Charlie  did,  in  a  tone 
that  Wesley  could  never  have  achieved. 

"  Who  in  the  devil  are  you  that's  so  all-fired 
smart  ?"  queried  Glover.  "  Who' re  you,  any- 
way?" 

14  Give  him  your  own  name,  Charlie,"  said 
Wesley,  and  Charlie  did.  "  Lord,  but  you  do  put 
up  a  pert  twist  with  your  voice,  Charlie.  If  a  man 
was  to  talk  to  me  like  that,  I'd  run  him  down." 

44  Charlie  Green?  I  never  heard  of  you  afore 
— nor  nobody  else  aboard  here.  What  vessel  is 
that?"  came  from  Glover. 

44  Never  mind  what  vessel.  Whatever  vessel's 
here  I'm  not  too  frightened  to  put  her  into  Canso 
to-night." 

"That  so?  You're  the  devil  and  all,  ain't 
you?    And  when  are  you  goin'  in?  " 

44  Right  away." 

"That  so?  And  maybe  you'll  show  me  the 
way?" 

44  Yes,  if  you  ain't  too  scared  to  follow.  And 
I'll  have  a  good  story  to  tell  when  we  get  to 
Gloucester — not  alone  being  scared  to  go  in,  but 
too  scared  even  to  follow  behind  when  another 
man  shows  you  the  way." 

"  That  so?  Well,  I  don't  see  you  goin'  in,  nor 
I   don't  see  no   ridin'   light  hangin'    from  your 


146 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

"  No  ?  Well,  s'pose  you  follow  on  and  stop 
talkin'." 

A  lantern  was  dropped  over  the  stern  of  the 
Lucy  Foster,  Wesley  put  her  wheel  up,  and  the 
Lucy  was  off.  Another  moment,  and  they  made 
out  the  green  light  of  the  Calumet  coming  after. 

Wesley,  chuckling  to  himself,  sailed  scandalous 
courses  with  the  Lucy.  "  If  I  don't  scare  him 
'bout  half  to  death,  and  if  him  and  me  don't 
have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  after  we  come  to  an- 
chor inside — if  ever  he  comes  to  anchor  inside! 
Let's  see  now,  Charlie.  There's  Kirby  Rock 
under  our  lee.  I  hope  the  Calumet  carries  a 
weather  helm — for  the  crew's  sake,  I  mean.  And 
now  west  half  no'the — I'll  give  him  a  scare. 
There's  Black  Rocks  ahead — he's  got  to  keep  on 
now.  And  now  for  the  Bootes — a  nice  little  lot 
of  ledges,  the  Bootes — but  not  to  make  a  landin' 
on — six  feet  in  spots  and  the  surf  breakin'  fine 
over  'em.  Hear  it  roar?  Lord,  yes,  and  see  it. 
We'll  hold  up  a  bit,  Charlie,  or  it's  the  Lmcv'11  be 
gettin'  into  trouble.  And  now  for  Man-o'-war, 
another  fine  little  spot — six  or  eight  feet  of  water 
there — no'the  three-quarters  west.  Oh,  man,  hear 
it  roar!  How's  he  makin'  out  behind?  There 
he  is,  and  scared  blue,  I'll  bet,  for  fear  she'll 
swing  a  foot  out  of  the  way.  Let's  see,  now, 
where  we  ought  to  be!     Let's  see — man,  but  it's 

147 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

thick  here! — let  her  go — off,  now,  Charlie,  west 
no'west  and  a  hair  west,  just  a  hair  now,  ought  to 
take  us  inside  Mackerel  Rock.  If  Glover  knows 
his  business  now,  it  won't  matter;  if  he  don't, 
then  Lord  help  his  name  for  master  of  a  vessel. 
Enough  on  that  course — shoot  her  up  now  by 
the  Rock  no'the,  quarter  west.  Go  ahead,  the 
Lucy'll  make  it,  don't  fear.  Man,  she'll  sail 
in  the  wind's  eye,  the  Lucy.  Don't  fear  for  the 
Lucy — a  weather  helm  she  carries.  She'll  shy 
off  herself  if  we  get  too  close.  That's  the  girl — 
there  she  is — a  good  place  to  be  by,  that!  And 
now  for  the  reg'lar  channel — no'west  by  west — 
and  let  her  go !  But  how  are  they  makin'  out  on 
the  Calumet,  I  wonder?  " 

They  were  not  making  out  on  the  Calumet  at 
all.  Evidently  she  did  not  carry  a  weather  helm. 
From  the  Lucy  they  could  make  out  her  port  light 
— for  a  while  they  thought  she  was  past  the  ledge 
and  all  safe.  Then  the  red  light  swung  off  to 
leeward.  They  soon  heard  a  hail.  Then  a  series 
of  hails. 

"  Lord,"  said  Wesley,  "  d'y'  s'pose  she 
struck?  "  and  himself  jumped  to  the  wheel  again. 
His  first  thought  was  to  put  the  Lucy  right  back 
to  the  Rock;  his  second,  and  the  one  he  acted  on, 
was  to  get  her  lights  out  of  sight  and  then  to 
turn  back,  sail  wide,  and  come  up  to  the  Calumet 

148 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

as  though  he  had  just  come  in  the  harbor  himself. 
"  They're  safe  for  a  while  there,  and  there  was 
no  reason  in  the  world  why  he  couldn't  have  got 
by  there  if  we  did,"  said  Wesley,  and  began  to 
nose  her  way  back.  It  was  his  seaman's  extra 
sense  that  brought  him  safely  to  the  Calumet 
again. 

He  found  her  on  the  edge  of  the  ledge,  with 
the  sea  washing  over  her.  She  was  pounding,  and 
from  her  deck  they  heard  the  sounds  that  meant 
that  a  dory  was  to  be  launched.  There  was  much 
talking,  some  free  comment,  and  not  a  little  pro- 
fanity. 

"  Hi-i !  "  hailed  Wesley,  in  his  own  person. 
"What  vessel's  that?" 

"What?  That  you,  Wesley?"  came  Captain 
Glover's  voice. 

M  Why,  is  that  you,  Harry?  "  answered  Wesley. 

"  When'd  you  come  in?  " 

"  Just  shot  in." 

"Shot  in!     A  night  like  this!" 

"  Why,  yes.     But  what's  wrong?  " 

"  What's  wrong?  Everything's  wrong.  Some 
bloody  pirate  piloted  us  ashore  and  then  went  up 
the  harbor  and  left  us.  What  bloody  ledge  is  this 
we're  on?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure,  not  having  a  chart  handy;  but 
it's  a  bad  place,  whatever  it  is." 
149 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

"A  bad  place?  I  should  say.  We've  just 
smashed  our  dory,  and  I'm  afraid  some  of  us 
will  be  washed  over  if  the  sea  makes  a  little  more. 
What'll  we  do?" 

"  Well,  that's  for  you  to  say.  You're  master 
of  your  own  vessel,  and,  of  course,  you  know  your 
own  business.  But  I'll  drop  over  a  dory,  if  you 
say  so.  I'd  rather  handle  live  men  now  than 
corpses  in  the  morning,  myself." 

"  Well  then,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  hurry  up, 
won't  you  ?  " 

Wesley  took  off  the  crew  of  the  Calumet.  On 
his  own  deck  he  met  Glover  and  spoke  a  little  of 
his  mind.  "  'Twas  my  intention,  Harry  Glover, 
to  take  it  out  of  your  hide,  for  stealin'  them 
herrin'  at  Folly  Cove,  but  as  you're  shipwrecked 
now  it  makes  a  difference.  I'll  take  you  up  the 
harbor  and  leave  you  there."  Which  he  did,  and, 
further,  let  them  have  a  dory  to  take  them  to  the 
dock. 

To  Glover,  at  parting,  he  said,  "  You  and  me, 
Harry,  better  have  no  words  over  this — you  know 
why.  The  consul  here'll  send  your  crew  home 
at  the  expense  of  the  Gover'ment,  so  they'll  be 
all  right." 

"  But  the  Calumet — I  s'pose  she'll  break  up 
where  she  is?  " 

"  She  may,  and  then  she  mayn't." 
150 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

"  Then  I'd  better  go  down  when  it  moderates 
and  see  what  I  can  do." 

"  That,"  answered  Wesley,  "  is  your  business. 
As  it  is  now,  she's  abandoned,  and  anybody's  prop- 
erty that  wants  to  board  her." 

"  Oh,  nobody'll  board  her  in  this  weather — 
they'd  be  smashed  on  the  ledges.  Just  as  soon  as 
it  moderates — some  time  to-morrow,  maybe — I'll 
be  down  with  a  tug  and  lighten  her  up." 

But  Wesley  did  not  wait  until  it  moderated. 
That  same  night,  at  high  water,  the  Calumet 
floated  off.  Five  hundred  barrels  of  frozen  her- 
ring transferred  to  the  Lucy  Foster  helped  ma- 
terially in  the  floating  of  the  Calumet. 

"  Only  eight  hundred  barrels  of  salt  herring  in 
her  now — we  oughter  be  able  to  get  her  home. 
She's  squattin'  pretty  low  in  the  water,  but  we 
oughter  get  her  home.  And  do  you,  Charlie, 
take  Dan  and  George  and  Tommie  and  follow  on 
behind  the  Lucy,"  said  Wesley,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing light  he  led  the  way  out  of  Canso  Harbor. 


IV 

The  Lucy  Foster  came  sailing  into  Gloucester 
Harbor,  and  in  her  wake  was  the  Calumet.  The 
Lucy,  under  not  more  than  half  sail,  was  acting 

151 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

like  a  vessel  that  was  trying  to  coax  along  the 
other,  which  was  moving  most  painfully.  Wesley, 
from  the  Lucy's  quarter,  kept  hailing  out  encour- 
agement. "  'Most  home,  Charlie — keep  her  go- 
in'.  There'll  be  good  salvage  for  all  hands,  but 
a  little  extra  for  you,  Charlie — keep  her  goin'. 
And  them  men  to  the  pumps — ain't  there  just  a 
little  touch  left  all  around  in  that  big  jug  to 
hearten  'em  up  a  little?  It'd  be  too  bad  to  have 
her  sink  on  us  now,  and  she  into  the  dock,  you 
might  say.  I'll  run  a  bit  ahead  now,  Charlie, 
and  hail  the  steamboat  people,  so  there'll  be  a 
lighter  alongside  by  the  time  you're  ready  to 
anchor." 

Knowing  nothing  of  all  this,  but  talking  mat- 
ters over  with  Mr.  Duncan,  was  Fred  Withrow, 
the  owner  of  the  Calumet,  in  Mr.  Duncan's  office. 
"  Here's  a  telegram  came  four  days  ago  from 
Glover.  Says  that  the  Calumet  went  ashore  the 
previous  night  while  she  was  trying  to  make  Canso 
Harbor.  And  now  here's  the  second  telegram, 
came  three  days  ago,  saying  that  as  soon  as  the 
weather  moderated  he  took  a  tug  and  went  down 
to  see  how  she  was,  but  couldn't  find  her.  And 
now,  here's  this  long  letter,  came  this  morning, 
saying  that  he  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it — 
that  when  he  went  down  to  look  for  her  he  could 
not  find  a  trace  of  her.  He  says  he  thought  she 
152 


The   Lucy  was  acting  like  a  vessel  trying  to  coax  the  other. 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

may  have  slipped  off  the  ledge — whatever  ledge 
it  is  he  does  not  seem  to  know,  it  was  such  a 
black  night  and  blowing  so  hard  when  he  came 
in.  But  that  she  must  have  slid  off  and  sunk, 
rolled  over  on  her  side  and  sunk,  he  is  certain; 
because  otherwise  the  spars  at  least  would  show. 
Now  he's  thinking  of  sounding  the  harbor,  but 
wants  to  know  my  opinion  of  it  first." 

11  Yes?  "  said  Mr.  Duncan.  He  and  Withrow 
were  not  the  best  of  friends. 

"  Yes.  But  I  suppose  you're  wondering  what 
it's  all  got  to  do  with  you.  Well,  Glover  mentions 
in  his  letter  that  Wesley  Marrs  came  into  the 
harbor  just  after  the  Calumet  went  ashore.  It 
was  Wesley  took  the  crew  off.  But  next  morning, 
when  he  went  down  to  look  for  the  Calumet, 
Wesley  was  gone.  I  didn't  know  but  what  you 
had  heard  from  Wesley." 

"  I  haven't  heard  from  Wesley  since  he  left  for 
Newfoundland,  six  weeks  ago.  I  don't  generally 
hear  from  him  till  he  gets  home.  Wesley  isn't 
much  of  a  letter-writer." 

It  was  just  then  that  they  heard  a  commotion, 
and,  looking  out  of  the  window,  saw  the  Lucy 
Foster  and  the  Calumet  coming  to  anchor  in  the 
stream. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Withrow,  and  waited, 
after  he  had   looked   again,   no   longer  than   to 

153 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

glance  doubtfully  at  Mr.  Duncan  before  he  flew 
out  of  the  door. 

After  Mr.  Duncan  also  had  had  another  look 
and  seen  for  himself  that  it  was  true,  he  sat  down 
in  his  chair  and  tried  to  think  it  out.  He  was 
still  trying  to  think  it  out  when  Wesley  himself 
came  in  the  door. 

"  Hi-i !  "  hailed  Wesley,  and  taking  one  of 
Mr.  Duncan's  longest  cigars,  sat  down  and  an- 
swered Mr.  Duncan's  first  question  by  beginning 
to  tell  the  story.  It  took  just  about  the  length 
of  a  cigar  to  tell  it,  for,  while  Wesley  smoked 
fast,  he  also  talked  fast,  and  with  that  told  barely 
more  than  the  cold  facts. 

Barely  more  than  the  cold  facts,  and  yet,  to 
get  the  real  color  of  it,  one  should  have  heard 
Wesley  tell  it;  should  have  seen  him  hunch  his 
shoulders  wrathfully  in  the  beginning  when  he 
was  picturing  Glover's  sending  the  messenger 
astray;  should  have  seen  him  bring  his  fist  down 
on  the  desk  when  he  drove  the  Lucy  across  the 
Gulf  to  head  off  Glover  at  Canso;  then  should 
have  seen  him  lean  back  and  laugh  when  he  told 
how  Glover  abandoned  his  vessel.  And,  finally, 
one  should  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  eyes 
through  the  halo  of  smoke  when  he  said,  "  And 
'twarn't  no  joke  takin'  them  frozen  herrin'  out 
of  the  Calumet  that  night,  and  'twas  pump,  pump, 

154 


Strategy  and   Seamanship 

pump,  and  stand  by  on  the  Lucy  all  along  the 
Cape  shore  ready  to  take  the  crew  off  her  any 
minute.  Yes,  sir.  She  leaked  a  little,  did  the 
Calumet,  and  she  cert'nly  did  set  scandalously 
low  in  the  water  at  times,  but  we  wiggled  her 
home.  Yes,  sir,  and  there  she  is,  out  in  the 
stream." 

Having  smoked  out  his  cigar,  Wesley  naturally 
slowed  up.  "  And  I  misdoubt  that  she'd  stayed 
afloat  of  herself  another  half  hour.  There's  a 
hole  under  her  quarter  that  most  of  them  herrin', 
if  they  knowed  enough  or  didn't  happen  to  be 
put  away  in  pickle,  could've  swum  their  way 
through.  A  good  man,  that  Charlie  Green,  Mr. 
Duncan;  and  if  you  could  only've  heard  the  twist 
he  put  into  his  voice  when  he  was  talkin'  to 
Glover  just  afore  he  went  into  Canso  Harbor  that 
night !  But  a  week  on  the  railway  oughter  fix  up 
the  Calumet  so  she'll  be  as  good  as  ever. 

11  But  ain't  that  a  good  one  on  Glover,  though? 
Hah,  what?  Glover,  the  —  the  —  strategist? 
That's  it  —  strategist  —  strat-e-gist !  Ho-ho  I  " 
Wesley  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  blew  the  last 
ring  up  at  the  ceiling.  "  And  John  Rose — I  don't 
cal'late  John  Rose'll  feel  so  bad  when  he  hears 
the  whole  story — hah,  what?  And  Glover — 
ho-ho! — think  of  him  tellin'  his  friends  up  to 
Canso  how  it  happened — and  leave  it  to  him  to 

155 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

tell  it  right;  and  after  he  gets  through  tellin' 
them  that,  of  him  hirin'  a  tug  to  go  down  and 
pull  her  off,  and  him  cruisin'  around  lookin'  for 
her — and  not  findin'  her — ho-ho!  But  I  s'pose 
we  got  to  talk  business  now.  What's  the  salvage 
law  about  this,  Mr.  Duncan?  I've  picked  up  a 
few  vessels  at  sea  in  my  time,  but  never  one 
quite  this  way.  How  about  the  salvage,  Mr. 
Duncan?  " 

"  The  vessel  was  abandoned,  you  say?  " 

"  She  cert'nly  was." 

"  Well,  then,  our  lawyer  ought  to  be  able  to  fix 
that  up  easily  enough.  Therein  be  a  big  salvage, 
don't  you  worry  about  that.  And  however  it  comes 
out,  it  will  cost  her  owner  a  good  many  times  more 
than  if  he  hadn't  got  so  oversmart  a  skipper  for 
her.  But  you're  laughing  again,  Captain — what 
is  it?" 

11 1  couldn't  help  laughin'  to  think  of  Withrow, 
too.  I  never  did  partic'larly  like  Withrow,  either. 
What  does  he  think,  d'y'  s'pose,  Mr.  Duncan?" 

"Withrow?  M-m — I  wouldn't  want  to  say. 
But  I  know  what  I'd  think  if  it  happened  to  one 
of  my  vessels,  and  I  know  what  I'd  say — and  what 
I'd  do,  too." 

"  And  what's  that  now,  Mr.  Duncan?  " 

"  If  it  was  one  of  my  vessels,  I'd  see  that  the 
next  vessel  I  built  went  to  a  skipper  that  ran  a  little 

156 


Strategy  and  Seamanship 

more  to  seamanship  and  not  quite  so  much  to 
strategy." 

11  That's  if  she's  to  go  fishin'  ?  "  commented 
Wesley. 

"  Of  course — if  she's  to  go  fishing,"  agreed 
Mr.  Duncan. 

"  That's  me,  too — a  little  plain,  ordinary  sea- 
manship for  me.  But  I'll  be  goin',  I  think.  That 
oughter  be  a  pretty  good  story  to  tell  up  the  street 
— hah,  what?  And  John  Rose — I  think  I'll  have 
to  write  a  letter  to  John  Rose  about  it.  Yes,  I  think 
that's  worth  a  little  note  to  John — hah,  what? 
Yes.  But  first  I  think  I'll  tell  'em  up  the  street, 
for  cert'nly  up  to  the  rooms  they'll  all  admire  to 
hear  about  Fred  Glover  and  his  strategy.  Yes,  sir, 
Fred  and  his  strategy — ho,  ho,  ho,  strategy!  "  and 
out  the  door  and  up  the  street  went  Wesley. 


157 


DORY-MATES 


Dory-Mates 


MARTIN  CARR'S  dory-mate  having  just 
stepped  on  deck,  the  forec's'le  gang  began 
to  question  Martin  about  him.  In  the  fast  run-off 
to  the  grounds,  with  everybody  trying  to  catch  up 
on  sleep,  there  had  been  small  time  to  get  ac- 
quainted; but  the  general  opinion  seemed  to  be  that 
'twas  rather  a  delicate-looking  lad. 

11  That's  what,"  summed  up  an  unquestionably 
able-looking  fisherman  who  was  overhauling  a  tub 
of  trawls.  "  He  don't  look  hardly  rugged  enough 
to  go  winter  trawlin'.  D'y'  think  he  do,  yourself, 
Martin?" 

'Twas  put  in  all  good-nature,  as  Martin  himself 
well  knew;  but  it  was  not  in  Martin  to  allow  even 
moderate  criticism  of  a  friend  pass  without  retort, 
and  so  his  "  I  never  knew  before  'twas  looks  made 
a  man  "  went  flying  back  to  the  lee  lockers. 

The  man  on  the  lockers  smoothed  out  a  snarled 
ganging  ere  he  came  back  with  "  Now,  now,  Mar- 
tin, we  all  know  'tisn't  looks  alone,  but  leave  it  to 
yourself — don't  looks  go  a  great  ways  toward  your 

161 


Dory-Mates 

judgment  of  a  man?  Afore  ever  you  know  what 
a  man  is,  don't  the  cut  of  his  mouth  or  the  set  of 
his  jaw,  and  the  way  he  looks  out  of  his  eyes  at 
you,  have  a  lot  to  do  with  how  far  you'd  trust  him? 
Don't  it?" 

"  Sure,  it  does,"  replied  Martin.  "  But  d'y' 
mean  to  say  this  lad  hasn't  good  eyes  and  mouth 
and  jaw?  " 

11  Now,  Martin  " — and  a  broken,  rusted  hook 
was  snipped  off  and  replaced  with  a  new  shiny  one 
— "  now,  Martin,  nobody  knows  better  than  you 
what  /  think — you  that  c'n  read  a  man's  mind 
'most.  The  lad's  got  as  fine  a  face  in  a  way  as  ever 
I  looked  at.  Man,  'tis  a  beautiful  face.  But  that's 
the  bother  of  it — 'tis  beauty,  not  strength  in  it. 
And  comin'  down  to  facts,  you  know  yourself,  it's 
no  joke  to  be  out  in  a  dory  with  a  man  that  can't 
hold  his  end  up.  'Tis  thought  of  you  we  have, 
Martin.  Did  ever  he  haul  a  trawl  or  try  to  row  a 
loaded  dory  agen  a  full  tide  out  here?  " 

For  answer,  Martin  continued  calmly  to  blow 
his  puffs  of  smoke  toward  the  deck-beams. 

11  That  means  he  never  did,  and  I'm  afraid, 
Martin,  when  it  comes  to  it,  that  maybe  he  won't 
be  able  to." 

"Well,  maybe  he  won't,"  echoed  Martin 
placidly;  "  but  whether  he  does  or  no,  'tisn't  Martin 
Carr  will  be  the  first  to  tell  him  he's  fallin'  short." 
162 


Dory- Mates 


II  But  where  did  you  pick  him  up,  anyway, 
Martin?" 

II I  didn't  have  to  pick  him  up.  His  father  was 
a  dory-mate  of  mine,  nigh  thirty  year  ago — as  far 
back  as  the  old  Aleutian " 

"  The  same  Aleutian  that  was  lost  with  all 
hands  afterward,  Martin?" 

"  The  same.  But  this  was  some  years  before  she 
was  lost.  This  was  when  Jack  Teevens,  this  boy's 
father,  was  lost.  And  how  ?  Tryin'  to  save  a  ship- 
mate. And  I  was  the  shipmate.  Maybe  some  of 
you  remember  now  ?  " 

"  Coming  across  Western  Bank  one  winter's 
day,  warn't  it,  Martin?" 

"  Aye,  makin'  a  passage — the  old  Aleutian  run- 
nin'  before  an  easterly  gale — everything  on  and 
staggerin'  under  it.  Jack  was  to  the  wheel — 
lashed.  Me  on  watch  for'ard,  was  standing  fool- 
ish-like between  the  dories  and  the  lee-rail.  In  a 
day-dream  I  must've  been.  By'n'by  comes  a  big 
sea  after  her.  I  didn't  see  it,  but  Jack  to  the  wheel 
did.  *  Watch  out,  Martin !  '  he  hollers ;  but  I  was 
kind  of  slow,  and  when  the  sea  hit  her,  away  I 
went  over  the  rail.  Good  as  gone  was  I,  but  Jack 
casts  off  his  life-line  and  comes  jumpin'  to  the  waist 
to  heave  me  something  or  other  to  keep  me  afloat. 
Comes  another  sea  and  heaves  me  back  toward  the 
vessel.    I  grabs  a  draw-bucket  and  the  end  of  the 

163 


Dory-Mates 

throat  halyards,  which  Jack  had  hove,  just  as  a 
third  sea  comes.  Well,  in  that  third  sea,  which 
broke  clean  over  her — she  bein'  already  hove  most 
flat  by  the  second  sea — away  goes  Jack  Teevens. 
I  didn't  see  him  go.  'Twas  when  the  gang  came 
rushin'  on  deck  and  hauled  me  aboard  that  they 
told  me  they  could  just  make  him  out — away  to 
looard  he  was — as  he  waved  good-by  afore  he 
went  down — down  to  stay.  Lord  in  heaven,  what 
a  man  he  was !    And  to  go  at  his  age !  M 

"  'Twas  hard.  But  he  couldn't've  been  such  a 
young  fellow,  Martin?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  Nineteen  year  ago  that  was. 
Nineteen  from  forty-eight — twenty-nine  year  he'd 
be  that  time.    We  were  the  one  age." 

"  Lord,  Martin,  'tisn't  possible  you're  forty- 
eight  year  old?  " 

"  That's  what — forty-eight." 

"  Well,  you  don't  look  it.    Do  you  feel  it?  " 

"  Feel  what — forty-eight?  Man  alive,  what's 
forty-eight  to  a  man  that's  never  seen  a  sick  day  in 
his  life?" 

"  But  you've  taken  great  care  o'  yourself, 
Martin." 

"  Well,  maybe.    A  little  regular  smokin'  and  a 
drink  once  in  a  while  ashore,  or  maybe  sittin'  up  a 
night  or  two  by  way  of  bein'  sociable  after  weeks 
on  end  of  this  work  out  here." 
164 


Dory-Mates 

"  Could  you  stand  to  a  mark  and  jump  your  ten 
foot  six  inches,  toe  to  heel,  like  I  see  you  do  one 
time,  Martin?  " 

"  No,  I  couldn't.  My  joints  aren't  that  soople. 
But  if  I  couldn't  go  without  sleep  as  long,  or  stay 
to  my  neck  in  the  water  as  long,  or  go  without  grub 
even  longer " 

11  That  you  could,  Martin.  'Tis  me  ought  to 
know  that — me,  that  was  three  days  and  three 
nights  astray  with  you  on  Quero.  An'  when  it 
comes  to  buckin'  agen  wind  and  tide  with  a  dory 
loaded  to  the  gunnels " 

"  Hi-i !  below  there !  "  This  from  the  deck. 
"Out  dories!" 

With  a  sigh  Martin  set  down  his  pipe  and  pre- 
pared to  get  into  cardigan  jacket,  boots,  and  oil- 
skins. "  I  must  say  I  hates  to  leave  my  little  pipe- 
ful " — and  to  his  youthful  dory-mate,  dropping 
down  from  deck — "  Isn't  it  so  with  you,  too, 
Eddie-boy?  " 

"  I  could  smoke  all  the  time  I'm  awake, 
Martin." 

"  Like  your  father  before  you,  boy.  You're 
cert'nly  like  your  father  other  ways,  too.  But 
you're  not  tough  like  him.  Sad  kind  of,  too,  like 
he  was  at  times,  's  if  he  could  see  things  ahead. 
O  Lord,  but  I  did  love  your  father,  boy!  And 
you  cert'nly  look  like  him.     But,  come  along  now. 

165 


Dory-Mates 

Your  first  trip  at  this  work,  and  wc  must  have 
things  right." 

Martin's  dory,  the  first  over  the  side,  was 
dropped  up  to  windward.  To  the  Skipper's  last 
word,  "  Set  to  the  eastward,  Martin — it  don't  look 
none  too  good,  but  I'll  be  back  to  you  after  I've 
run  the  string  out,"  Martin  waved  a  free  arm  and 
nodded  a  cheerful  acquiescence. 

The  vessel  left  them  astern.  Martin  began  to 
heave  the  trawls  and  Eddie  to  row.  There  was  a 
disquieting  pitch  and  toss  to  the  sea.  Anybody 
but  a  trawler  would  have  called  it  bad  weather  for 
a  sixteen-foot  dory  to  be  out  in.  It  was  a  much 
heavier  sea  than  any  Eddie  had  ever  before  tried 
to  row  a  boat  in,  and  he  soon  said  so. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Martin,  "  I  s'pose  it  do  seem 
hard  at  first — a  banker's  dory  in  a  chop — but  after 
three  or  four  days  you  won't  mind  it.  'Tis  the 
cross-tide  that  puts  that  little  kick  to  it  and  slats 
her  around  so.  And  yet  the  safest  small  boat  afloat 
is  a  dory — when  it's  handled  right.  Here  we  are 
now,  away  out  here  in  this  little  dory." 

"  And  just  where  are  we,  Martin?  " 

14  Let  me  see  now."  Martin  was  a  dextrous 
trawler,  who  never  had  to  slack  his  work  because 
of  any  little  conversational  strain.  He  kept  the 
air  full  of  hooks  and  line  even  while  he  figured  it 

166 


Dory-Mates 

all  out.  "  We  were  forty-four  fifty-six  north  and 
fifty-one  ten  west  at  noon,  the  Skipper  said.  We 
sailed  for  an  hour  after  that — east  half  no'the. 
That  ought  to  put  us  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
mile  from  the  nearest  point  o'  land — Newf'und- 
land  that'll  be.  But  how's  the  rowin'?  A  bit 
heavy,  isn't  it?  Tide  and  sea  together's  a  hard 
thing  to  buck  out  here,  boy.  You'd  be  surprised 
how  they  carry  you  out  the  way  at  times.  That's 
the  divil  when  the  fog  or  the  snow  comes  and  you 
drift.  Or  maybe  the  vessel  isn't  anchored — flyin' 
sets  maybe  same  as  now — and  away  she  goes. 
And  now,  Eddie-lad,  try  and  see  how  you  make 
out  shootin'  a  trawl,  and  let  me  tend  to  the  rowin'. 
Careful,  now,  comin'  for'ard — you're  not  in  a 
bathin'-suit  in  Gloucester  Harbor  with  smooth 
water  and  no  more  than  a  hundred  yards'  swim  if 
you  capsize  the  boat.  That's  it — keep  'em  whirlin'. 
My,  but  you're  doin'  fine — 'tis  born  in  people,  the 
fishin'  ways.  If  you  were  only  a  bit  more  rugged, 
now,  there  wouldn't  be  your  better  on  the  whole 
Grand  Banks.  But  this  life'll  soon  put  the  strength 
in  you,  Eddie-boy." 

11  If  it  don't  kill  me  first,"  laughed  the  young 
fellow. 

"Kill  you?  What  talk  is  that?  Kill  you? 
Why,  the  way  you'll  eat — not  three,  but  four,  and 
maybe  five  meals  a  day.     And  mug-ups?     Every 

167 


Dory-Mates 

time  you  think  of  it,  a  mug-up — and  when  you 
forget,   always  plenty  to  put  you  in  mind  of  it 

by  their  example.     And  sleep " 

"  When  there's  any  time  to  sleep." 
"Time?     Wait  till  it  comes  too  rough  to  go 
out  in  the  dory." 

"  Too  rough?  "    The  boy  looked  over  the  gun- 
nel and  grimaced. 

"  Oh,  it  comes  plenty  rough  at  times.  Have  a 
care,  or  one  of  those  little  seas'll  wet  you  through." 
11  H'm — I'm  wet  through  already." 
"  Oh,  no,  not  real  wet  through.  When  you  get 
real  wet  out  here —  But,  never  mind,  wet  or  dry, 
we'll  be  alike,  anyway,  and  company  for  each 
other,  however  it  goes.  Your  father,  now,  he  was 
great  company  in  a  dory.  Tell  stories !  And  sing ! 
What's  it  he  used  to  sing,  now,  on  the  old 
Aleutian,  when  we  were  hardly  more  than  boys 
together  ?  Oh,  but  your  father  had  the  voice,  boy  I 
And  to  hear  him  roll  out — 

"  *  Let  it  come  from  the  east, 
Let  it  come  from  the  west ' — 

That's  when  it  would  be  breezin'  up.  Dory-mates 
were  we,  the  same  as  you  and  me  be  now,  lad.  And 
he  was  a  dory-mate.  I  had  to  fight  almost  to 
keep  him  from  doin'  half  my  work  as  well  as  all 
his  own,  at  times.    I  mind  how  he  used  to  speak  of 

168 


Dory-Mates 

you  when  we'd  get  a  breath  between  haulm',  or 
maybe  walkin'  the  deck  of  a  night-watch  together. 
4  Martin,  but  if  you  could  see  how  he's  growin',' 
he'd  say.  '  Every  trip  in  he  looks  a  head  taller. 
And  the  grip  of  him,  Martin,  when  he  winds  his 
five  little  fingers  around  my  one  finger !  And  the 
beauty  of  him — the  spit  of  his  mother,  Martin,' 
he'd  say.  '  And  if  you  could  see  him  of  a  mornin' 
climb  up  on  the  bed  and  grab  the  mustache  of  me 
and  twist  it.  Only  two  year  old,  Martin,  and  talk 
— man,  he  c'n  talk  better  than  I  can — the  long 
words  of  him,  Martin !  And  I  do  hope  he'll  never 
have  to  go  fishin' !  '  He  said  that  last  many  a  time. 
*  I  do  hope  he'll  never  have  to  go  fishin'  for  a 
livin' !  But  if  he  do  have  to  go,  I'd  lie  easy  in  my 
grave — wherever  my  grave  may  be,  Martin — if  he 
was  to  have  a  dory-mate  like  you.'  And  to  think 
now  we're  dory-mates — Jack  Teevens's  boy  and 
Jack  Teevens's  old  dory-mate.  And  he  had  to  be 
lost,  your  father.  Some  things  are  hard  to  take, 
believe  in  a  Divine  Providence  much  as  we  like. 
And  then  your  mother  had  to  die,  too." 

u  Yes,  Martin.  And  I  often  wondered  if  she 
were  not  glad  to  go.  What  did  she  have  to  live 
for?  And  I  think  of  it,  what  have  I  got  to  live 
for?  If  it  comes  to  that,  what  have  you,  Mar- 
tin— no  wife,  no  family — what  have  you  to  live 
for?" 

169 


Dory-Mates 

11  What  have  I  ?  Lad,  it  grieves  me  to  hear  you 
talk  that  way.  What  haven't  I  to  live  for?  I've 
hundreds  of  things  to  live  and  be  thankful  for. 
There's  my  friends.  There's  the  little  ones  I've 
seen — not  my  own — my  own  were  taken  away, 
please  God,  and  their  mother — but  my  friends' 
children  that  I've  seen  in  the  bornin'  almost  and 
now  growin'  up  around  me.  And  out  here,  never 
do  I  step  aboard  the  vessel  after  a  long  day's 
haulin'  and  draggin'  that  I'm  not  glad  to  see  the 
fresh  faces  lookin'  at  me  over  the  rail — if  it's  no 
more  than  the  Skipper  hangin'  to  the  wheel  or  the 
cook  standin'  by  the  painter.  And  at  home,  boy ! 
Never  a  time  we  breast  Cape  Sable  goin'  home  that 
I  don't  begin  to  feel  cheerful,  no  matter  how  hard 
and  rough  and  maybe  profitless  a  trip  we've  had. 
And  when  we  raise  Eastern  Point !  and  goin'  into 
the  harbor  of  Gloucester !  Lad,  lad,  but  my  eyes 
run  water  'most  to  think  of  the  people  I'm  soon  to 
see — to  talk  and  shake  hands  with,  maybe  sit  up  a 
night  or  two  with  before  I  go  out  again.  Lord,  boy, 
if  there  warn't  a  man  or  woman  in  the  whole  wide 
world  to  hail  good-mornin'  to  you — if  it  was  no 
more  than  to  look  at  happy  people's  faces  when 
you're  ashore — or  out  to  sea  again,  if  it's  no  more 
than  to  look  at  the  sky  and  the  fine  tumblin'  ocean ! 
Even  the  sea  in  a  blow,  boy,  is  somethin'  to  soothe 
a  troubled  man's  soul." 

170 


Dory-Mates 

"  To  soothe  ?  Lord,  Martin,  is  it  soothing  now  ? 
Look  at  it.  How  we're  staying  gunnels  up  is  more 
than  I  know." 

"  Gunnels  up?  What,  now?  Why,  Eddie,  when 
you've  seen  it  as  I've  seen  it!  But  'tis  growin' 
a  bit  more  rough — isn't  it  ?  Have  a  care  for  some 
of  those  seas.  That  oar  in  the  becket  astern,  have 
an  eye  to  that,  and  when  you  notice  a  bad  sea 
comin',  just  give  the  oar  a  little  flirt — so — and  put 
her  head  or  stern  to  it,  whichever's  handiest.  It'll 
save  a  capsizin'  some  day,  maybe.  And  now  'tis 
time  to  begin  haulin'.  The  signal's  been  to  the 
peak  some  time  now,  but  I  like  to  give  'em  a  good 
set  myself.  I  c'n  make  up  the  time  on  the  haulin'. 
But  we'll  begin  now,  and  do  you  coil,  boy.  Here 
we  go,  four  tubs  of  line — a  mile  and  a  half  of  a 
trawl  to  haul.  'Tis  the  rare  appetite  it'll  give  us ; 
and  when " 

"  Isn't  the  vessel  rather  far  away,  Martin?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  Where  is  she  now?  Oh,  yes. 
She  is  a  bit  away,  but  it  must  be  the  lee  dories  have 
gone  adrift.  Let's  see  who's  in  the  lee  dory. 
That'll  be — let  me  see,  now — Jethro  and  Eben. 
Eben's  a  good  man,  but  Jethro's  not  much  of  a  man 
in  a  dory — big  enough,  but  not  much  use." 

"  And  I  guess  he's  not  the  only  useless  man  out 
here  to-day." 

"  Hush,  boy,  hush.  What  kind  of  talk  is  that?  " 
171 


Dory- Mates 

"  It's  true.    Don't  I  know  that  I  could  no  more 

haul  trawls  in  this  sea  than Why?     A  mile 

and  a  half  of  trawl  to  be  hauled,  and  don't  I  know 
that  as  your  dory-mate  I  ought  to  haul  half  of  it? 
And  will  I?  Could  I,  even  if  you'd  allow  me, 
Martin  ?  Oh,  yes — about  as  well  as  I  could  winch 
in  the  vessel's  anchor  alone.  Don't  I  know  what  it 
means — a  man  that  can't  do  his  share  out  here? 
It  means  that  one  of  the  crew  is  eating  his  share 
of  grub  and  by  and  by  will  get  his  share  of  the 
stock,  and  yet  who  is  no  more  use  in  a  dory  than 
the  painter  when  the  dory's  aboard,  and  no  more 
use  aboard  the  vessel  itself  than  the  spare  an- 
chor with  the  vessel  in  harbor.  Don't  I  know, 
Martin?  " 

"  Eddie,  listen  to  me.  You  talk  again  like  that, 
and  sure's  my  name's  Martin  Carr  I'll  take  the 
privilege  of  your  father's  friend  and  bat  the  jaw 
of  you.  I  will,  boy,  much  as  I  like  you.  And  let 
me  tell  you,  'tis  dory  agen  dory  out  here,  and 
our  dory'll  bring  her  share  of  fish  aboard  this 
night." 

11  This  night?  Will  we  get  aboard  this  night, 
do  you  think,  Martin?  " 

Martin  looked  about  him — looked  long  about 
him,  but  said  only,  "  Is  there  a  drop  of  water  left 
in  the  bottle,  Eddie?" 

"  About  half  a  mugful." 
172 


Dory-Mates 

"  Half  a  mugful?  Well,  keep  that  by  you,  and 
by'n'by  you'll  have  it  to  drink — not  now." 

"  I'll  save  it  for  you,  Martin." 

"  That's  your  father's  own  boy,  Eddie,  but  never 
mind  me.  What's  a  mouthful  of  water  to  me 
that's  been  without  it  seven  days  on  end?  It's 
nothin' — nothin'  at  all.  Keep  it  for  yourself  and 
by'n'by  drink  it.  It  may  mean  a  lot  to  you,  for  I 
know  that  already  you're  wringin'  with  the  sweat. 
And  you're  tired,  too,  aren't  you,  lad?  " 

"  A  little,  Martin." 

"  Oh,  but  it's  the  cruel  work  for  you,  boy.  But 
what  are  you  at  now?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  have  a  smoke." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  yet  awhile,  Eddie." 

"  And  why,  Martin?" 

u  I'll  tell  you  later." 

14  Tell  me  now— what's  wrong,  Martin?  M 

"  Well,  we're  astray,  lad — astray.  Did  you 
never  hear  what  'tis  to  be  astray  on  the  Banks? 
And  now  night's  'most  on  us,  and  'tis  small  use 
rowin'.  The  dories,  last  time  I  looked,  were  all 
points  of  the  compass  and  the  vessel  standin'  after 
them — a  strong  tide  and  their  lines  parted,  no 
doubt.  I  haven't  seen  her  for  an  hour  or  more 
now.  We'll  be  the  last  to  be  picked  up,  anyway. 
She'll  get  to  us  by  mornin',  no  doubt." 

"  If  she  ever  does  get  to  us,  Martin." 
173 


Dory-Mates 

14  And  why  won't  she  get  to  us?  You're  not  like 
your  father  there,  boy.  'Twarn't  in  your  father 
ever  to  give  up,  boy.  With  him,  the  blacker  it 
came  the  brighter  he'd  get.  You're  more  like  your 
mother's  people  in  that,  Eddie." 

11  I  think  I  must  be,  Martin — everybody  says  so, 
anyway." 

Throughout  the  long  cold  night  they  drifted. 
Eddie,  shivering  in  the  stern,  broke  a  long  silence : 

"  It  must  be  near  morning  now,  Martin?  " 

"  Gettin'  to  it,  boy,  gettin'  to  it." 

"  And  the  water  smoother,  don't  you  think, 
Martin?" 

14  A  lot  smoother,  Eddie-boy  " ;  and  under  his 
breath,  4I I  only  wish  it  hadn't  moderated  for  a 
while  longer." 

44  And  the  air  not  quite  so  cold,  Martin?  " 

44  Not  quite,  Eddie-boy  " ;  and  again  under  his 
breath,  44  And  that's  not  for  the  best,  either,  just 
now."  He  looked  out  ahead — out  and  up.  It  was 
quite  a  little  while  before  Eddie  noticed  what  Mar- 
tin had  foreseen — the  white  flakes  fluttering  down. 
Only  when  they  began  to  settle  on  the  back  of  his 
woollen  mitts  did  the  young  fellow  take  note  of 
them — resting  there  for  a  moment  and  then  melt- 
ing under  the  warmth  of  his  hand.  He  regarded 
the  first  flake  curiously.    That  he  could  see  it  at  all 

174 


Dory-Mates 

was  proof  that  morning  was  at  hand,  and  he  felt 
glad.  What  it  might  mean  to  them  did  not  then 
dawn  on  him.  When  his  brain  awoke  to  the  warn- 
ing it  brought  he  did  not  obey  his  first  impulse — 
to  shout  out  his  discovery.  Instead,  he  waited  and 
thought  it  all  out,  and  as  he  waited  and  pondered 
the  flakes  fell  faster. 

When  he  had  thought  it  all  out  he  looked  toward 
Martin,  who  was  leaning  over  the  bow.  Thinking 
he  might  be  asleep — he  felt  drowsy  enough  him- 
self— Eddie  feared  to  waken  him  at  first.  But  he 
finally  ventured  to  call,  "  Martin !  " 

11  Aye,  boy."  Martin  turned  with  eyes  that 
clearly  had  not  lately  been  closed,  eyes  that  re- 
garded him  tenderly. 

uWill  it  last?  Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me, 
Martin.     I  think  I  know  what  it  means  now." 

11  And  you're  not  afraid?  " 

"Afraid?  Why,  no.  'Twas  the  work — the 
hardship  I  dreaded — not  the  danger  of  being  lost. 
None  of  my  people  were  ever  afraid  to  die.  And 
yet,  I'm  afraid  of  the  sea,  Martin.  That  must  have 
come  from  my  mother.  She  was  always  afraid  of 
it — on  account  of  my  father  being  on  it  so  much, 
I  suppose.  I  hate  to  think  of  being  drowned  and 
being  found  floating  in  it,  or  even  lying  on  the 
bottom  of  it.  There's  a  good  many  lying  on  the 
bottom  hereabouts,  aren't  there,  Martin?  " 

175 


Dory-Mates 

11  The  sands  hereaway,  Eddie,  are  covered  with 
the  bones  of  lost  fishermen." 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  dread.  If  I  could  only  die 
ashore,  or  be  buried  ashore — a  Christian  burial 
with  a  little  prayer,  and  then  the  dry  earth  over 
you.  Don't  you  fear  being  buried  in  the  sea, 
Martin?" 

"  Fear  it?  Not  me,  boy.  Sea  or  shore,  it's  all 
one  to  Martin  Carr,  though  maybe  I  do  like  the 
sea  a  bit  the  more." 

"Ugh!  I  don't.  And  promise  me,  Martin — 
promise  me,  if  it  rests  with  you,  that  you'll  bury 
me  ashore." 

14  Hush,  boy,  hush.  It's  not  right  now  to  be 
thinkin'  such  things." 

Again  Martin  looked  out  from  the  bow,  and 
the  young  fellow  huddled  in  the  stern.  He  could 
not  stand  the  long  silences.  "  What  are  you 
thinking  of,  Martin?" 

"  I'm  thinkin',  boy,  that  it's  small  use  waitin' 
around  here  for  the  vessel.  It's  as  thick  o'  snow 
as  I've  seen  it  in  a  good  many  winters,  and  no  sign 
of  it  slacking.  We've  got  to  be  doin'  somethin', 
and  we  might's  well  be  rowin'.  But  first,  where's 
your  tobacco?  Well,  throw  that  over — see  now, 
there  goes  mine.  That's  so  that  by'n'by  you  won't 
be  tempted  to  smoke.  Smokin'  makes  you  thirsty, 
and  to  be  thirsty  and  no  water — I  mean  real  thirsty, 

176 


Dory-Mates 

after  two  or  three  days,  maybe,  without  a  drink, 
and  you  rowin'  hard  all  the  time  and  the  juice 
sweated  out  of  you — it's  an  awful  feelin',  lad.  I 
know,  I  know,  there  is  the  snow.  But  snow  where 
it  touches  here  isn't  quite  what  you  think  it.  Not 
a  square  inch  where  the  snow  strikes  here  that  isn't 
crusted  with  salt,  and  you  know  what  comes  of 
drinkin'  saltish  water.  We  may  be  out  for  days,  so 
let's  get  ready.  Let  me  see,  now — it  oughter  be 
twelve  o'clock  by  this.  Yesterday  at  twelve  I  mind 
the  tide  set  to  the  west'ard.  We'll  row  across  it — 
so.  But  first  we'll  pitch  out  the  fish.  It's  a  shame, 
isn't  it,  to  have  to  heave  the  fine  fat  fish  back  after 
you've  gone  to  the  trouble  of  baitin'  up  four  tubs 
of  trawls — to  have  to  haul  a  mile  and  a  half  of 
trawls  and  then  have  to  heave  them  overboard 
again  after  they're  coiled  nice  in  the  buckets  and  the 
fish  to  your  gunnels  after  them.  Two  thousand 
pounds  of  good  fish  there,  Eddie.  'Tis  a  shame, 
but  over  with  'em.  And  don't  try  to  save  one  to 
eat.  It's  no  use — raw  fish.  I  tried  it  once,  and  my 
stomach  was  upset  by  it — and  my  stomach's  not 
easy  upset.  You'd  throw  it  up,  Eddie,  and  that 
would  weaken  you  for  the  rowin'.  And  we're  in 
for  a  row  now.  You've  rowed  a  dory  around  in 
a  harbor,  boy,  in  your  day,  but  now  for  a  real 
row." 

"How  far,  Martin?" 
177 


Dory-Mates 

"  To  Newfoundland  coast,  maybe — a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles — if  we're  not  picked  up." 

"  Oh " 

"  'Tis  discouragin'  to  think  of,  but  don't  let 
yourself  think  too  much  about  it.  After  twenty- 
four  or  forty-eight  hours  you  won't  be  thinkin'  so 
much  about  it.  'Twill  be  more  mechanical-like 
then  with  you — brain  kind  of  hazy-like  from 
lookin'  at  nothing  but  the  level  sea  over  the  gunnel 
and  your  arms  never  stoppin'.  Do  you  sit  on  the 
for'ard  thwart,  but  take  it  easy — 'tis  a  long  drag, 
boy — a  hundred  and  fifty  mile  to  Newf'undland." 

And  so  they  set  out.  'Twas  a  long,  easy,  regular 
stroke  that  Martin  dropped  into;  just  such  a  stroke 
as  a  man  might  adopt  who  looked  for  a  moder- 
ately long  drag  to  his  vessel — ten  or  fifteen  miles, 
say. 

But  this  was  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Yes,  and 
more,  with  allowances  to  be  made  for  the  set  of 
wind  and  tide  and  the  natural  perversity  of  the 
dory  itself.  Whoever  has  rowed  a  dory  knows 
that  nothing  will  swerve  more  easily  off  its  course 
— that  is,  if  you  don't  know  how.  Martin  Carr 
knew  how,  but  the  young  fellow  with  him  did  not ; 
and  it  was  Martin  Carr's  business  to  make  such 
allowances  as  would  offset  the  uneven  rowing  of 
the  lad. 

They  rowed  on.     To  the  boy  the  silences  were 

i78 


Dory-Mates 

appalling.  For  an  hour  at  a  time  nothing  would 
be  said.  Martin,  with  the  instinct  of  an  old 
trawler,  was  husbanding  every  ounce  of  energy; 
the  boy  was  numb,  overwhelmed.  A  hundred  and 
fifty  miles !  The  thought  of  it !  He  did  not  shrink 
from  the  thought  of  death,  but  a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  of  this  work!  He  began  to  figure  it  out. 
Say  they  drove  the  dory  ten  feet  a  stroke.  That 
was  more  than  five  hundred  strokes  to  a  mile — one 
hundred  and  fifty  times  five  hundred — how  much? 
How  slow  he  was  to  figure  now — but,  yes,  that 
was  75,000  strokes.  Good  Lord!  one,  two,  three 
— why,  it  would  take  twenty-four  hours  just  to 
count  75,000,  without  rowing  at  all.  But  to  row 
— to  reach  out  with  the  arms  and  haul  those  two 
heavy  blades  through  a  heavy  sea — one — two — 
three — and  every  other  stroke  ineffective,  certainly 
for  him,  if  not  for  the  strong-backed  Martin  Carr, 
because  of  the  unevenness  of  the  sea.  Why,  it 
would  take  a  week,  night  and  day. 

He  began  to  figure  it  up  another  way.  Suppose 
they  made  two  miles  an  hour.  That  was  forty- 
eight  miles  a  day — three  days  in  all.  But  allowing 
for  cross-tides  and  cross-winds,  the  constant  head- 
ing of  the  dory  straight  again — say  four  days. 
Four  days!  And  nothing  to  eat  and  nothing  to 
drink  during  those  four  days  of  work  and  toil. 
And  that  meant  that  they  must  never  vary  from 

179 


Dory-Mates 

their  course.  Naturally  they  would  vary.  Say  six 
days  and  six  nights.  But  no  man  can  row  night  and 
day  for  six  days  and  nights  without  food  and  drink. 
Not  even  Martin,  wonderful  man  that  he  was, 
could  do  it.  Say  they  rested  one-third  of  the  time — 
eight  hours  a  day.  Ashore,  men  who  did  practi- 
cally nothing  slept  eight  hours  a  day.  That  surely 
would  not  be  too  much  rest  after  rowing  a  heavy 
dory  in  a  heavy  sea. 

Already,  though  he  had  been  rowing  hardly 
more  than  two  hours,  he  was  tired,  with  wrists  hot 
and  heavy,  and  his  forearms  cramping.  And  Mar- 
tin himself  must  feel  it  after  a  day  or  two.  Much 
as  he  had  heard  of  these  iron  men,  these  deep-sea 
trawlers,  they  could  not  last  it  out  forever.  And 
God!  suppose  they  were  heading  out  across  the 
Atlantic — and  could  even  Martin  say  they  were 
not,  with  no  sun  or  stars  to  guide  him?  Would 
it  be  slow  starvation?  And  why  was  it,  now  he 
thought  of  it,  he  wasn't  famished?  Twenty-eight 
hours  already  without  food!  Ah,  was  that  why 
Martin  buckled  his  own  belt  about  his  stomach — 
buckled  it  tight  and  made  him  drink  the  last  of  the 
water?  Surely,  if  nothing  else  came,  that  would 
come — the  slow  starvation. 

Or  would  it  be  just  madness?  How  unreal  it 
all  was!  One — two — three — four — the  chafing 
of  the  oars  came  to  him  as  if  from  some  other  dory 

180 


Dory-Mates 

in  the  distance.  So  certain  was  he  that  the  noise 
was  not  made  by  himself  and  Martin  that  he 
stopped  and  listened. 

"What's  it,  lad?" 

11  Isn't  there  another  dory  somewhere  near, 
Martin?" 

"  Maybe — there's  no  tellin',  it's  so  thick,"  an- 
swered Martin  aloud,  but  to  himself,  "  Already," 
and  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

The  lad,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  listening, 
came  to  see  how  he  had  misled  himself. 

He  resumed  his  examination  of  Martin's  back — 
the  regular  bend  and  heave  he  noticed.  He  could 
not  see  the  face,  but  he  knew  the  calm  set  of  eyes 
and  jaw.  What  a  man!  But  even  Martin  would 
have  to  go,  too,  and  when  they  would  be  found, 
even  Martin,  the  iron  man,  would  be  stiff  and 
cold  also,  as  others  had  been  found  before  him. 
But  so  few  were  found!  And  why  weren't  they 
found!  Capsized  and  drowned.  That  was  it — 
or  was  it  that  they  went  crazy  and  jumped  over- 
board? He  pictured  that — the  sudden  dropping 
of  the  everlasting  oars,  the  last  wild  cry,  the  dive 
over  the  gunnel.  He  wondered  would  it  be  that 
way  with  himself. 

He  looked  about,  his  first  long  look,  and  noted 
the  sea.  He  certainly  never  had  imagined  the  sea 
as  it  was  now- -not  nearly  so  rough  as  on  the  day 

181 


Dory-Mates 

before — almost  smooth,  in  fact,  as  if  beaten  down 
with  the  weight  of  snow  which  lay  upon  it  like — 
like  what?  He  had  seen  that  often,  of  course — 
the  new-fallen  snow  on  land.  But  nothing  like  this 
— the  cold  gray  waste  hidden  until  all  was  white. 
What  was  it  like  now,  that  white  covering?  Oh, 
yes — why  had  he  not  thought  of  it  before? — like 
the  white  sheet  they  sometimes  drew  over  dead 
people. 

"  Martin !  "  he  called  out  then. 

"Aye?" 

"Isn't  it  awful?" 

"  Tis — in  a  way.  'Tis  solemn,  boy.  Here  we 
are  hid  away — a  vessel  could  be  fifty  feet  away  and 
we  not  see  her.  She  could  be  twenty  feet  away 
and  she  not  see  us — we're  that  white.  But 
there's  a  consolation — the  thicker  it  comes  the 
sooner  it'll  stop." 

"  Then  this  should  stop  soon." 

It  did  stop  finally;  after  what  Martin  judged 
to  be  ten  or  twelve  hours.  It  melted  from  the  sea, 
then  thinned  above,  and  the  sky  shone  through. 
Not  a  broad  sweep  at  first,  but  patches  here  and 
there.  It  was  later  before  the  clear  dome  and  the 
familiar  stars  shone  out. 

"  There's  the  Great  Dipper,  boy — see  it?  It 
must  be  three  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  by  the  placin' 
of  it." 

182 


Dory-Mates 

11  Three  in  the  morning — and  we  rowing  since 
three  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon !  " 

11  Aye,  boy.  And  there's  the  North  Star  and 
those  other  little  stars  I  don't  know  the  names  of. 
We'll  keep  the  North  Star  one  good  point  off  the 
starb'd  bow,  boy,  and  on  that  course  till  mornin', 
and  then  we'll  go  by  the  sun." 

The  morning  came,  and  the  boy  noted  that  six 
inches  of  snow  covered  the  inside  of  the  dory  every- 
where— gunnels,  strakes,  and  thwarts,  except 
where  they  had  been  sitting,  and  the  bottom  of  the 
dory,  except  where  their  champing  boots  and  the 
heat  from  within  them  had  beaten  it  into  a  slush ; 
and  that  the  snow  was  dazzling  white  under  the 
morning  sun.     But  above  all  he  felt  the  cold. 

"  The  wind  must  have  shifted,  Martin,  it's  so 
much  colder." 

"  Aye,  boy.    'Tis  no'west  now." 

"  A  cold  wind — the  coldest  of  all,  isn't  it, 
Martin?  " 

11  Aye,  boy,  but  one  great  comfort  with  it — 'tis 
mostly  a  clear  wind,  a  no'wester.  Should  any  ves- 
sel be  about  now  they'll  soon  see  us.  But  rest  a 
while,  boy.  Go  aft  and  lie  in  the  stern — you'll  be 
trimmin'  ship  better  there — every  little  tells  in  a 
long  haul;  or  stamp  up  and  down  and  slap  your 
arms,    or   take    the    bailer   and   shovel   out   the 


183 


Dory-Mates 

Having  cleared  the  dory  of  snow,  the  boy  strove 
vainly  to  overcome  his  inclination  to  lie  down. 
But  he  did  lie  down  at  last.  His  legs  were  so  numb 
that  he  hadn't  the  strength  to  go  aft,  he  said,  and 
so  Martin  took  him  in  his  arms  and  set  him  in 
the  stern.  "  And  don't  rest  too  long  there,  boy. 
There's  such  a  thing  as  freezing  to  death  in  a 
no'wester.    A  cold  wind,  lad,  is  a  no'wester." 

The  boy  lay  there  till  Martin  bade  him  rise  and 
stamp  about.  But  he  could  not  keep  up  the  stamp- 
ing for  long.  "  I'm  so  tired,  Martin,  and  hungry 
— oh,  so  hungry!  "  He  sucked  at  a  bit  of  snow- 
crust. 

"  Aye,  boy.  One  older  and  tougher  than  you 
might  say  it.  And  don't  eat  too  much  of  that 
stuff,  and  try,  boy,  try  a  while  again  to  keep  movin' 
your  arms  and  legs." 

He  tried,  but  could  not.  So  Martin  bade  him 
lie  down  again.  And  the  boy  lay  down  and  began 
to  drowse,  at  which  Martin  shook  his  head.  But 
what  could  he  do?  He  had  to  keep  rowing  him- 
self. Oh,  yes — he  took  off  his  own  cardigan  jacket 
and  forced  the  boy  into  it.  The  boy,  only  half 
awake,  protested — a  feeble  protest — as  Martin, 
with  a  soft  "  Hush,  lad,  hush — weren't  me  and 
your  father  dory-mates  for  many  the  long  year  to- 
gether? "  buttoned  it  about  him. 

"  My,  Martin,  but  that's  warming!  " 
184 


Dory-Mates 

"  Aye,  boy,  that  it  is.  Many  a  cold  winter's 
day  it's  helped  to  warm  me." 

To  remove  his  cardigan  jacket,  which  was  under 
his  oil-coat,  Martin  had  to  expose  himself  to  the 
biting  no'wester,  and  so  cold  and  searching  was  it 
that  he  took  many  minutes  to  button  his  oil-jacket 
again.  To  overcome  the  numbness — "  Or  soon  I 
wouldn't  be  able  to  hold  an  oar  at  all,"  he  muttered 
— he  beat  his  hands  against  the  gunnels,  noticing 
the  while  that  he  not  only  knocked  off  the  last  little 
films  of  frozen  snow-crust,  but  also,  though  this 
rather  curiously  than  sympathetically,  that  the  ends 
of  his  fingers  bled  under  the  impact  of  the  blows. 
"  Man,  but  'tis  cold,  when  it  comes  to  that !  "  and 
bent  over  the  boy  to  fix  the  jacket  more  securely 
around  his  neck.  "  Forty-eight  hours  now  without 
food  or  drink — 'tis  hard  on  you,  lad — hard  on 
you." 

Back  to  his  rowing,  and  no  cessation  till  he  heard 
the  lad  muttering  in  his  sleep.  "  What's  it  now  ?  " 
said  Martin,  and  bent  toward  him. 

" — But  to  be  floating  around  in  the  water  or 
lying  somewhere  on  bottom  for  the  fish  to  eat 
up — "  murmured  the  sleeping  boy. 

11  Lad,  lad,  but  you're  right — 'tis  hard." 

"  — If  it  was  no  more  than  a  Christian  burial — " 

"  Christian  burial,  lad?  Make  your  mind  easy, 
but  if  I  live,  and  you  die,  'tis  Christian  burial  you'll 

185 


Dory-Mates 

get,  boy.  But  'tis  both  of  us  together'll  go,  I'm 
thinkin'  now."  He  shook  the  lad.  "  Wake — wake 
now,  Eddie-boy — wake,  boy,  wake,  and  try  and 
row  again  a  bit.  'Tis  cruel  I  am — aye,  the  hard 
heart  of  me — aye,  boy.  But  now  you  must  row, 
and  maybe  you'll  warm  up  a  while  yet.  Lay  there, 
and  in  two  hours  more  'tis  stiff  as  the  oar  itself 
you'll  be." 

And  so  the  boy  crept  to  his  seat  and  resumed 
rowing,  though  his  oars  no  more  than  slid  over  the 
surface  of  the  sea.  The  lad  thought  he  was  help- 
ing— he  saw  the  oars  pass  from  forward  to  aft 
and  back  again — but  it  was  only  the  dory  slipping 
away  under  the  ceaseless  drive  of  Martin's  irre- 
sistible strength. 

Throughout  all  that  cold  winter's  day  they 
rowed.  And  night  came,  and  once  more  the  boy 
sought  the  stern  and  lay  there ;  and  as  he  lay,  Mar- 
tin took  off  his  oil-jacket  and  buttoned  it  about  the 
lad's  body.  "  There,  now,  a  cardigan  jacket  and 
two  oilskins.  You  ought  to  keep  warm  now.  And 
now,  Martin  Carr  " — he  was  back  to  his  seat 
again — "  'tis  harder  than  ever  you'll  have  to  row 
or  yourself  freeze  to  an  icicle." 

All  through  that  long  night  Martin  called  to  the 
lad.  Until  well  into  the  night,  as  he  considered 
it,  he  could  catch  the  responses.  But  gradually 
Eddie's  voice  became  duller,  and  toward  morning 

186 


Dory-Mates 

Martin  got  no  answer  at  all.  "  Asleep,  the  poor 
boy !  "  muttered  Martin,  himself  by  then  not  too 
wide  awake. 

The  stars  dulled  away,  the  dawn  broke  gray, 
and  then  the  first  long  rays  of  the  winter  sun 
glinted  the  white  of  the  crested  seas.  The  weary 
man  in  the  waist  of  the  dory  roused  himself.  He 
found  himself  still  rowing,  but  that  his  mind  had 
slept  he  felt  certain.  He  looked  about  him — 
astern,  ahead,  to  either  side.  No  sail — nor  smoke. 
He  took  note  of  the  dory.  Iced  to  a  depth  of  six 
inches  it  was,  and  with  every  fresh  slap  of  the  sea 
more  ice  was  adding.  "  A  mile  away  now  and 
we'd  look  like  a  lump  of  ice  to  any  passing  vessel," 
he  thought  aloud. 

The  no'wester  whistled  over  the  ridged  seas.  A 
no'west  wind  and  white-tipped  seas  that  broke  over 
them — could  man  invent  anything  more  freezing? 
And  all  night  long  it  had  been  so. 

"  Eddie,"  called  Martin,  "  Eddie-boy!  "  Again, 
"  Oh,  Eddie-lad — Eddie-boy,  shake  yourself  now, 
dear."  But  no  answer  coming  from  the  boy,  Mar- 
tin more  closely  regarded  the  figure  in  the  stern. 
The  rising  rays  of  the  sun  were  tinting  the  stiffened 
yellow  oilskins,  but  the  low-drawn  sou'wester  al- 
lowed Martin  no  glimpse  of  the  features.  The 
hands  were  encased  in  the  heavy  woollen  mitts, 
which  Martin  now  noted  were  coated  with  ice. 
i87 


Dory-Mates 

Still,  ice  was  no  great  matter.  How  he  wished  his 
own  oilskins — what  was  left  of  them — were 
iced  up,  too.     Ice  kept  out  the  biting  wind. 

Gradually  it  came  into  his  brain,  even  though 
the  yet  insufficient  light  revealed  nothing  of  the 
boy's  face,  that  all  was  not  quite  natural.  Once 
more  a  call,  but  no  answer,  not  even  the  old  fa- 
miliar shifting  of  the  legs.  "  Is  it  asleep  you  are, 
boy,  and  have  you  been  asleep  all  night?  Lad,  lad, 
but  if  you've  been  asleep — "  and  bent  over  and 
lifted  the  sou'wester. 

The  face  was  calm — calm  as  a  waxen  mask  in 
a  window.  But  the  eyes — wide  open!  Quickly 
he  drew  off  the  boy's  mitts  and  felt  of  the  hands 
within.  The  ice  on  the  gunnels  of  the  dory  was 
not  colder.  Martin's  brain  did  not  grasp  it,  what 
with  his  body  being  so  numb,  but  his  heart  crowded 
itself  inside  him. 

He  dropped  back  to  his  seat  and  resumed  the 
oars.  But  only  for  a  few  strokes.  He  stood  up, 
and  with  the  bailer  began  to  pound  the  ice  off  the 
dory.  "  She'll  sink  else,"  he  said — "  she'll  sink 
else,  lad,  and  we'll  never  get  you  ashore."  He 
broke  the  bailer  trying  to  pound  the  ice  off.  He 
took  the  handle  of  an  oar  then — one  of  Eddie's 
oars  he  noted  dully,  one  of  the  oars  which  he  had 
lightened  by  cutting  down,  to  fit  the  boy's  feebler 
arms. 

188 


Dory-Mates 

The  ice  cleared  away,  he  went  back  to  his  rowing. 
But  again  only  a  few  strokes,  when  it  seemed  to 
sweep  over  him  what  it  meant — the  frozen  body  of 
the  poor  boy — Jack  Teevens's  boy.  He  rubbed  an 
iced  mitt  across  his  eyes.  u  God,  what  a  death  for 
you,  child!  What  a  death!  And  such  a  beautiful 
boy!  If  'twas  a  tough  old  knotted  trawler  like 
me —  And  me  that  was  to  watch  out  for  him! 
Yet  to  watch  I  meant,  lad,  but  'twas  a  long  night — 
and  a  cold.  And  not  overwarm  myself  was  I,  and 
I'm  misdoubting,  too,  I  slept  to  the  oars.  O  God, 
'tis  cruel — cruel !  "  and  dropped  his  head  on  his 
hands. 

He  tried  to  think  it  out;  but  he  had  such  horri- 
ble thoughts  that  he  knew  that  course  would  never 
do.  He  lifted  his  body  from  his  seat  and  tried 
to  stand  up.  He  could  not,  the  first  time,  or  the 
second,  but  the  third  he  held  his  feet.  The  dory 
was  again  sagging  under  the  weight  of  ice;  from 
stem  to  stern,  gunnels,  thwarts,  planks  inside  and 
out,  were  nearly  a  foot  thick  with  it.  The  painter 
coiled  in  the  bow  was  big  around  as  a  barrel. 
Across  the  body  of  the  dead  boy  it  was  beginning 
to  pack  solid.  Martin  gouged  the  gob-stick  from 
out  of  the  frozen  bottom  and  began  to  break  the  ice 
off.  He  could  hardly  hold  it  with  one  hand,  and 
so  put  both  to  it. 

A  good  part  of  the  ice  knocked  loose  and  thrown 
189 


Dory-Mates 

over,  he  reapplied  himself  to  the  oars.  It  was  plain 
enough  to  him  now.  "  However  else  it  comes,  'tis 
for  you,  Martin  Carr,  to  stand  to  your  rowin' — 
to  stand  to  it  till  you  can  push  your  arms  out  no 
more  from  your  shoulders,  till  your  fingers  will 
cling  no  longer  to  the  handles,  till — till  you're  cold 
and  stiff,  no  less,  Martin  Carr,  than  the  poor  boy 
there  before  you.  If  that  comes,  well  and  good, 
you've  done  your  best.  'Tis  to  shore  you  must 
reach,  or  be  picked  up,  or  die  to  your  oars.  And 
mind  it  always,  Martin  Carr — Christian  burial  for 
Jack  Teevens's  boy." 

So  he  rowed  on.  All  that  day  and  all  that  long 
night  he  rowed — all  through  a  snow-storm  that 
enveloped  him  like  ever-rolling  white  clouds,  and 
through  which  only  his  fisherman's  instinct  kept 
him  to  his  course.  "  'Twill  be  east-no'the-east  this 
wind — if  I  know  wind  at  all,  and  'tis  no'the  by  west 
you're  to  head,  Martin.  Two  points  for'ard  of 
the  port  beam  you'll  keep  that  wind,  and  there  you 
are,  Martin,  for  the  nearest  point  of  Newf'und- 
land — if  ever  you  get  there.  But,  oh,  'tis  mor- 
tal cold  and  mortal  tirin',"  he  muttered,  and  yet 
rowed  on,  regarding  his  arms  not  as  his  own,  but 
as  a  mechanism  directed  by  some  inner  force  and 
instinct  that  he  did  not  recognize  as  part  of 
himself. 

Four  full  days  and  nights,  and  for  the  first  time 
190 


Dory-Mates 

Martin  Carr  almost  admitted  himself  beaten.  His 
fingers,  he  observed,  were  stiffening  more  fre- 
quently; the  rapping  against  the  hard  gunnel  no 
longer  brought  the  blood.  Certainly  they  would 
freeze  up  soon.  And  if  they  froze  he  would  be 
unable  to  row.  They  might  freeze  stiff  and 
straight,  like  Eddie's  there.  And  if  so?  He 
groaned — he  would  be  unable  to  grasp  the  oars. 
But  hold — he  would  fix  that.  If  freeze  his  fingers 
must,  he  would  see  that  they  froze  so  as  to  be  of 
some  use  to  a  man.  And  conscientiously  he  curled 
them  around  the  handles  of  the  oars.  Stubborn 
they  were  at  first,  but  he  forced  them  into  position 
and  held  them  motionless  till  they  were  securely 
frozen  to  the  handles  of  the  oars. 

And  so,  the  oars  secured  beyond  accident  or 
future  weakness,  Martin  Carr  resumed  his  solemn 
way  to  the  shore.  How  far  to  the  shore  then? 
He  did  not  know — maybe  forty,  maybe  fifty, 
maybe  sixty,  maybe  one  hundred  miles.  For  all 
he  knew  he  might  have  been  rowing  zigzag  all 
over  the  ocean,  running  S's,  as  sometimes  green 
hands  steered  a  vessel  over  the  wide  sea. 

However,  row  he  did,  gray  winter  skies  and 
grim  slate-colored  seas  about  him.  Lonesome? 
Aye,  it  was  lonesome.  In  thirty  years  of  fishing 
Martin  Carr  had  never  known  so  lonesome  a  time. 
Consider  it — no  sail,  no  smoke,  no  gull  even  to 

191 


Dory-Mates 

come  screaming  astern,  and  the  boy's  frozen  body 
ever  facing  him  in  the  stern. 

Only  the  slap  of  chopping  seas  under  the  dory's 
low  gunnels — that  and  the  tumble  of  green-gray 
seas — interminable  seas,  curling  like  serpents,  roll- 
ing always  toward  one  and  spitting  foam  as  they 
rolled.  Always  that — that  and  the  frozen  body  in 
the  stern,  and  the  thoughts  that  would  come  to 
him.    Such  thoughts ! 

Sometimes  Martin  Carr  thought  he  would  move 
the  body  to  the  bow,  where  he  might  not  have  it 
forever  before  his  eyes.  But  again  he  wasn't  quite 
sure  that  he  would  not  see  it  just  as  clearly  even 
if  behind  him;  and  somehow  he  was  not  quite  sure 
that  he  did  want  it  moved,  even  if  he  could  do  it 
now,  which  he  doubted,  his  own  fingers  frozen  as 
they  were  to  the  oars.  Or  his  hands  once  removed, 
he  was  not  sure  he  could  reshape  them  to  the 
handles  of  the  oars  again.  So  perhaps  it  was  just 
as  well,  and  he  faced  the  dead  boy  anew. 

For  two  days  and  two  nights  more,  with  his 
dead  dory-mate's  face  ever  staring  at  him  from  the 
stern — for  six  frosty  days  and  six  freezing  winter 
nights  in  all — through  that  northern  wind,  and  sea, 
and  snow,  and  hail,  Martin  Carr  rowed  the  dory. 
And  made  land  at  last.  It  did  not  look  much — 
an  iron-bound  shore,  where  the  sheer  rock  rose 
straight  as  the  wall  of  a  church  and  against  which 

192 


Dory-Mates 

the  high  seas  beat  furiously.  He  could  not  land 
there — he  had  to  hunt  a  harbor.  He  made  out 
one  at  last — an  inlet,  with  signs  of  people  near  by. 
His  eyes  were  no  more  than  pin-points  in  his  head, 
but  he  could  make  out  the  five  or  six  low  huts  set 
up  on  the  rocks,  and  for  them  he  headed.  The  way 
was  caked  in  ice,  and  that  made  hard  work  of  it 
for  a  man  who  had  come  so  far  without  food  or 
drink  to  force  his  way  through.  Using  the  oars  as 
poles,  he  might  with  less  labor  have  beaten  a  chan- 
nel through,  but  his  fingers,  frozen  to  the  oars, 
were  not  yet  to  be  unsealed.  He  could  do  only  one 
thing,  and  that  was  row.  And  so  he  rowed,  ever 
rowed,  making  a  channel  by  forcing  the  bow  of  the 
dory  over  the  ice  till  of  its  own  weight  it  broke 
through  and  went  on. 

In  that  laborious  fashion  he  advanced.  Hours 
in  that  little  bay  alone,  but  at  length  he  reached  the 
shore.  He  made  sure  it  was  the  shore  by  a  long 
examination  before  he  relinquished  the  oars.  To 
free  himself  of  the  oars,  he  had  to  knock  the  ends 
of  them  one  over  the  other — had  to  do  that  to 
loosen  the  ice  from  about  his  hands  so  that  he  could 
slip  his  fingers  free.  They  came  away  as  he  had 
frozen  them,  shaped  in  cylindrical  form  to  the 
handles.  Taking  note  of  how  smoothly  they  came 
away,  he  reflected  that  he  might  with  safety  have 
slid  them  off  before  this — if  for  no  more  than  to 

193 


Dory-Mates 

break  the  ice  off  his  unshaven  chin  or  to  wipe  the 
hail  from  his  eyes,  or  to  set  back  on  Eddie's  head 
the  sou'wester  which  had  blown  off  in  the  night. 
But  a  man  sees  many  things  when  it  is  past  the  time. 

However,  that  wasn't  getting  on.  There  was 
Eddie  yet  to  be  taken  care  of.  Christian  burial  he 
had  asked  for,  and  Christian  burial  he  should  have. 
He  crawled  out  of  the  dory,  and  reached  over  the 
gunnel  with  one  leg  till  the  toe  of  his  boot  touched 
the  ice  on  solid  land.  Finding  it  firm,  he  drew  his 
other  leg  after  the  first. 

He  pushed  away  from  the  dory.  One  step,  and 
down  he  went  to  hands  and  knees,  and  could  not 
get  up,  try  as  he  would.  He  almost  cried — per- 
haps if  he  had  been  stronger  he  would  have  cried. 
He,  Martin  Carr,  whose  strength  used  to  be  the 
boast  of  every  crew  that  ever  he  sailed  with,  here 
he  was,  weak  as  a  young  child. 

But  he  must  get  on.  If  he  couldn't  walk,  he 
could  creep.  And  so  creep  he  did,  on  hands  and 
knees,  a  hundred  yards,  perhaps,  to  the  door  of 
the  nearest  hut. 

They  opened  to  his  knock,  a  bearded  man  and 
behind  him  a  stout  woman,  with  a  brood  of  fat 
children  peering  out  curiously.  Seeing  how  it  must 
be  with  him,  they  lifted  him  up,  set  him  down  on  a 
chair,  and  told  him  that  in  a  minute  or  two  the  hot 
tea  would  be  ready  for  him;  or  if  he  would  wait 

194 


Dory-Mates 

but  ten  minutes,  they  would  run  over  to  the  store 
and  get  him  a  glass  of  brandy — good  brandy  from 
Saint  Pierre. 

"  I  want  no  tea  and  I  want  no  brandy,"  said 
Martin  Carr,  "  and  yet  thanks  to  ye  the  same.  IVe 
a  dory-mate  below,  and  he's  waitin'  burial.  Help 
me  with  him,  help  me  get  him  ashore,  for  I'm 
weak  to  cryin'  'most,  and  after  that  prayers  and  a 
burial  and  Martin  Carr  will  never  forget  ye  both." 

Back  to  the  dory  they  went  with  him,  the  man 
that  Martin  Carr  had  knocked  up  and  two  of  his 
neighbors.  Under  Martin's  directions  they  essayed 
to  lift  the  body  from  the  dory,  one  being  within 
the  dory  and  two  ashore.  They  had  the  body 
among  them,  suspended  between  the  dory  and 
shore,  but  it  was  an  awkward  weight,  and  the  feet 
of  one  slipping,  through  the  ice  and  out  of  sight 
went  the  body. 

"  He's  gone !  "  they  shouted,  and  stared  at  the 
hole  in  the  ice. 

11  Christ  in  heaven !  "  Martin  crawled  to  the 
hole,  and  with  no  further  word  dropped  through 
and  after  the  body.  They  saw  him  disappear  and 
shivered. 

Next  they  saw  the  body  handed  up  by  a  pair  of 
frozen  hands.  It  was  just  deep  enough  there  for 
Martin's  head,  as  he  stood  on  bottom,  to  all  but 
show  clear.    They  took  the  body  from  him,  seeing 

195 


Dory-Mates 

only  the  half -submerged  head,  the  upstretched 
arms,  and  at  the  end  of  them  the  frozen,  hooked 
fingers  trying  to  balance  the  frozen  body. 

Martin  followed  the  body,  was  helped  up  the 
beach,  and  there  lay  prone.  It  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  could  move,  and  his  first  clear  speech  was 
an  apology.  "  I'm  fair  worked  out,"  he  said. 
"I've  come  a  long  way — days  and  nights — days 
and  nights — I  don't  know  how  many ;  but  it  seems 
like  years  of  rowin'  I've  had  and  nothin'  to  eat — 
nor  drink.  Don't  mind  if  I  refused  your  drink  a 
while  ago— I'll  take  it  now  that  Eddie's  safe,  and 
thank  ye  kindly  for  the  same." 

They  buried  Eddie — dug  his  grave  through  the 
many  feet  of  snow,  lowered  him  into  the  warm, 
brown  earth,  and  had  the  good  father  say  prayers 
over  him.  Martin  was  there — stayed  to  the  last 
shovelful  and  sent  his  own  prayer  with  it. 

Not  till  that  was  done  did  he  hunt  for  a  doctor. 
The  doctor  threw  up  his  hands  when  he  saw  the 
sight,  but  without  delay  went  to  work.  To  save 
the  arms  and  legs  the  entire  ten  fingers  and  toes 
would  have  to  come  off.  The  doctor  told  him  that. 
"  Go  ahead,"  said  Martin. 

Bandaged  up  and  rested,  the  doctor  asked  him 
his  story.  And  he  told  it — simply,  with  emphasis 
only  on  the  fate  of  the  poor  lad,  Jack  Teevens's 
boy. 

196 


Dory-Mates 

"  But  when  he  was  gone  beyond  all  hope,  when 
he  was  actually  dead,"  insisted  the  doctor,  "  why 
didn't  you  take  your  cardigan  jacket  off  him,  and 
your  oil-jacket,  and  put  them  back  on  yourself? 
He  was  dead,  and  much  as  you  cared  for  him  he 
would  be  no  worse  off.  And  you — with  your  con- 
stitution— you  might  have  saved  yourself  from 
freezing  up.     Why  didn't  you?  " 

"  Take  the  clothes  off  the  poor  dead  boy?  "  pro- 
tested Martin.  "  Take  them  back  after  I'd  put 
them  on  him  ?  Twist  and  toss  about  his  poor  body 
after  he  was  cold  in  death?  I  couldn't — I 
couldn't." 

11  God  help  you,"  exclaimed  the  doctor — 
"  you're  ruined  for  life !  " 

"  Aye,"  assented  Martin,  "  ruined  I  am." 

"  You  take  it  calmly  enough.  Do  you  realize 
what  it  means,  man?  You,  who  were  such  a  mag- 
nificent man  when  you  were  whole  and  sound,  do 
you  know  what  it  means?  " 

Martin  regarded  the  doctor.  "  Do  I  know?  " 
he  gazed  on  his  bandaged  hands,  and  looked  down 
on  his  poor  stumps  of  feet.  "  God  help  me,  'tis 
well  I  know  it.  Ye'll  never  fish  again,  Martin 
Carr ;  ye'll  never  haul  trawl  or  row  dory  again,  nor 
stand  to  a  wheel,  nor  reef  a  sail.  The  best  part 
of  your  life's  gone.  Ye're  such  a  creature,  Martin 
Carr,  as  men  throw  pennies  to  in  the  street.     But 

197 


Dory-Mates 

the  last  thing  ye  did  in  your  full  man's  life — maybe 
Jack  Teevens  will  remember  it  when  in  another 
world  he  meets  ye,  that  out  of  love  of  him  ye  stood 
by  his  boy — were  a  full  dory-mate  to  him — and  at 
the  last  gave  him  Christian  burial." 


198 


THE  SALVING  OF  THE 
BARK  FULLER 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark 
Fuller 


TO  Captain  Dixey,  of  the  iron  sea-going  tug 
Ice  King,  lying  tied  up  to  her  dock  in 
Boston  Harbor,  came  one  winter's  morning  a  man 
in  a  fur  coat  and  much  bediamonded.  "  My 
name,"  said  the  visitor,  "  is  Wiley." 

"  And  wily  is  your  nature,"  thought  Dixey, 
who,  according  to  report,  was  not  too  unsophisti- 
cated himself. 

u  And  I  want  to  know  what  it  will  cost  me  for 
the  services  of  your  tug  for  one,  two,  three,  or 
four  days — a  week,  if  necessary." 

11  That  will  depend  on  the  service." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  can't  just  say  what  the  service 
will  be?" 

"  Then  I  can't  tell  you  just  what  the  price 
will  be." 

"Haven't  you  a  fixed  price  by  the  day?" 

"  For  a  fixed  service,  yes.  A  man  comes  to 
me  and  says,  '  What  do  you  want  to  run  down  to 
201 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

Newport  News  to  tow  a  barge,  or  say  two  barges, 
of  coal — fifteen  or  eighteen  hundred  tons  in  a 
barge — to  Boston  ?  '  I  tell  him.  I'll  tell  you, 
if  it's  anything  of  that  kind." 

11  Tisn't  quite  that." 

"  Well,  a  man  comes  to  me  and  says,  '  Say,  I 
have  a  vessel  under  the  lee  of  Cape  Cod ' — say 
it's  blowin'  a  no'wester  like  now — a  vessel  say 
to  anchor  at  Provincetown  or  Chatham " 

"  Yes,  yes,  at  Chatham " 

11 — And  you  ask  me  what  I'll  go  and  get  her 
for  and  tow  her  to  Boston?  I'll  soon  tell  you, 
if  you'll  tell  me  what  her  tonnage  is." 

11  Say  a  two-thousand-ton  bark,  and  loaded  with 
mahogany." 

"  That's  a  pretty  big  vessel  and  a  pretty  valu- 
able cargo,  and  the  wind's  liable  to  stay  no'west 
for  a  while — blowin'  hard  as  it  promises  to,  and 
a  hard  drag  around  Cape  Cod  and  across  the  Bay 


"  I  know,  I  know — but  how  much?  " 

"  Me  to  leave  right  away?" 

"  Well,  maybe  not  at  once — say  in  a  few  hours. 
But  I'm  ready  to  engage  you  at  once." 

"  Well " 

"  But  wait — it  isn't  exactly  a  tow  from  an- 
chorage." 

"No?" 

202 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  No.  You  see,  it's  this  way.  I'm  interested 
in  this  bark,  and  there's  a  desperate  sort  of  cap- 
tain aboard,  and  she's  leaking,  and  I'm  afraid 
that  despite  all  instructions  he'll  try  and  beat  her 
around  the  Cape.  And  he  mayn't  make  it.  And 
if  he  tries  it  and  anything  goes  wrong — if  he 
has  to  get  help — say  her  sails  blow  off  and  she 
leaking  —  I'd  like  to  be  right  there  and  pick 
her  up." 

"  Why,  that's  salvage,  and  a  towboat  could 
claim  salvage — if  she  really  needed  help." 

11  The  towboat  could  claim  ?  You  mean  the 
owners  of  the  towboat  could  claim  the  salvage?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  the  owners." 

"  Well,  if  I  charter  her  I'd  be  the  same  as  the 
owner,  wouldn't  I  ?  " 

"  M-m — I  don't  know  but  what  you  would." 

"  Well,  there  it  is." 

"  H'm — where'd  you  say  she  was  layin* — 
Chatham?" 

"  I  didn't  say." 

"No?     I  thought  you  did." 

"  You  think  too  fast.  How  much  for  your  boat 
from  now  till  the  job's  over?  " 

"  Well,  two  thousand  tons — her  hull'd  be 
worth  a  lot  in  itself.  And  mahogany — a  two- 
thousand-ton  ship  ought  to  be  carryin'  about  a 
couple  of  million  feet  of  lumber.  And  mahogany 
203 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

worth — how    much    a    thousand    is    mahogany 
worth,  anyway?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"No?  Well,  it's  worth  a  whole  lot,  that's 
sure.  Here's  the  Morning  Commercial  News' \l 
tell.  M-m — here's  pine,  rough — spruce,  planed — 
m-m — oak — m-m — mahogany — whew !  Say,  ma- 
hogany's away  up,  isn't  it?  Let  me  see  now. 
I'll  do  that  job " 

"  Charter  me  your  tug " 

"  Yes,  charter  you  the  tug  for  five  thousand 
dollars  for  the  whole  job,  and  two  hundred  dol- 
lars a  day — the  two  hundred  a  day  in  case  there's 
nothing  doin',  in  case  that  Skipper  shouldn't  go 
clear  crazy,  you  see,  and  put  out  and  she  leakin'." 

Wiley  put  on  his  hat.  "  You  don't  want  much, 
do  you?  Five  thousand  dollars!  I'll  give  you  a 
thousand  for  the  whole  job,  or  two  hundred  for 
every  day  you're  under  charter  if  we  don't  get 
her." 

"  No,  no — a  cargo  of  mahogany.  Five  thou- 
sand or  nothing." 

"  Don't  be  unreasonable.  You  know  I  can  get 
plenty  for  a  thousand " 

"  Not  too  many  sea-going  tugs  right  now. 
There's  always  good  pickin'  for  a  big  tug  in  the 
Bay  this  time  of  year.  And  there's  a  risk  in  your 
job." 

204 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  A  little.  But  I  can  get  a  tug  just  as  good  as 
yours  for  a  thousand." 

"  Can  you?    Then  why  don't  you?  " 

"  Well,  I  will.     Good-day." 

Captain  Dixey  gazed  after  Wiley  going  up  the 
dock.  "  And  so  he  can — for  a  thousand — if  he 
don't  tell  them  too  much.  But  that  would  be  a 
rich  haul,  and  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  do  a  little 
salvage  business  on  my  own  account.  Why  not? 
She's  anybody's  prize  that  can  get  her.  Two 
thousand  tons  and  a  bark — in  the  lee  of  the  Cape 
somewhere,  and  loaded  with  mahogany — he  said 
something  about  Chatham.  It  oughtn't  be  too 
hard  to  find  out." 

Within  ten  minutes  Captain  Dixey  was  sending 
off  telegrams  like  an  Associated  Press-man.  He 
got  the  answer  he  wanted,  and  some  hours  later, 
when  the  man  in  the  fur  coat  was  putting  out  in 
another  iron  sea-going  tug,  the  Durlich,  Dixey, 
in  the  Ice  King,  was  not  half  a  mile  behind  him 
going  across  the  Bay. 


II 


At    about    the    same    hour    that    the    Durlich 
and  the  Ice  King  had  breasted  Cape  Cod  Light, 
the  American  fisherman  Buccaneer,  Crump  Tay- 
lor master,   lay  hove-to  on  the  Western  Banks. 
205 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

On  her  deck  were  the  two  men  on  watch,  alter- 
nately looking  out  for  the  big  seas,  and  hailing  one 
to  the  other  when  a  particularly  high  one  threat- 
ened to  break  over  her  rail. 

Young  Arthur  Gillis,  standing  forward,  sud- 
denly called  out  to  Sam  Leary,  his  watchmate, 
who  was  aft,  "  Here's  one  coming  aboard,  Sam, 
I  think." 

Sam  turned,  brushed  the  spray  from  his  eyes 
with  a  wet  woollen  mitt,  and  had  a  look.  He  did 
not  have  to  look  twice.  "Think  she's  coming! 
Think!  "  and  leaped  for  the  lee  of  the  mainmast, 
where  he  hooked  his  fingers  to  a  couple  of  be- 
laying-pins  in  the  fife-rail.  Another  squint  then 
from  around  the  mast.  "  Think!"  and  with  a 
toe  to  the  fife-rail  and  both  hands  to  the 
halyards  of  the  furled-up  mainsail,  he  began  to 
climb.  "And  climb  you,  too!  "  Another  glance 
between  the  mast  and  bolt-rope  of  the  sail. 
"  Think,  do  you  ?  Climb's  all  I  got  to  say. 
Climb,  you  alabaster  idjit,  and  don't  stop  till 
you're  to  the  masthead !  She's  a  Himalaya  moun- 
tain." 

Sam  was  by  then  strategically  astraddle  the 
main  gaff,  from  where  in  comfort  he  could  ob- 
serve Gillis,  who  was  to  the  lantern-board  in  the 
fore-rigging  and  still  climbing.  The  sea  struck 
her,  and  over  rolled  the  little  Buccaneer,  over, 
206 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

over,  till  her  masts  were  all  but  flat  out  on  the 
water.  Her  waist  must  have  been  buried  under 
ten  feet  of  water,  but  Sam  from  his  perch  could 
manage  to  keep  his  head  clear  of  the  sea. 

He  saw  that  his  watch-mate  was  safe.  "  Hi, 
there!  are  the  companion-way  hatches  down?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

11  You  think  so !  Some  day  you'll  think  you're 
alive,  and  you'll  wake  up  dead.  Is  she  lifting 
any  for'ard?  Can  you  tell  from  where  you  are? 
Will  she  come  up  ?  " 

«  I  think " 

11  Blast  you  and  your  thinkin'.  Do  you  ever 
do  anythin'  but  think?  Don't  you  ever  know 
anything?  " 

"  She  is  lifting." 

"  All  right,  then.  How'd  you  like  to  be  below 
now,  wonderin'  what's  happened  her?" 

"  Not  me.     'Tain't  so  bad  up  here,  is  it?  " 

"  'Twon't  be — if  she  comes  up." 

"  Was  this  one  ever  hove  down  before,  Sam?  " 

"  Twice." 

"  Worse  than  this  were  you  ever?  " 

"  Once  'twas  worse.  'This  same  man  in  her — 
he's  a  dog,  is  Crump — nothing  jars  him.  Both 
mastheads  under  that  time." 

"  And  come  up,  did  she?  " 

"And  come  up,  did  she?"  snorted  Sam. 
207 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark   Fuller 

"Ain't  she  here,  and  ain't  I  here?  Watch  out 
— she's  righting  now." 

Up  she  came — a  noble  little  vessel — slowly  at 
first,  but  more  rapidly  as  she  began  to  free  herself 
of  the  weight  of  water  on  her  deck.  Her  final 
snap  nearly  threw  Gillis  from  the  rigging.  A 
wild  lunge,  and  he  managed  to  retain  his  grip  in 
time  to  save  his  life. 

Sam  had  to  hide  his  emotion  at  his  mate's  close 
call.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  hang  on?  Think  you 
was  in  a  swing  at  a  picnic?  H'm — there's  the 
Skipper  bangin' — the  hatch  is  jammed." 

Indications  of  action  were  proceeding  from  the 
cabin.  Calm  taps  followed  by  quick  strokes,  and 
they  seeming  inadequate  to  proper  results,  one 
final  impatient  smash  with  the  axe.  Out  came  the 
dripping  head  and  shoulders  of  Crump  Taylor. 

He  surveyed  the  clean-swept  deck.  Disgust 
overcame  him.  "If  that  ain't  a  clean  job — 
what?  I  was  hopin'  there'd  be  somethin'  left,  but 
Lord!  not  so  much  as  would  make  a  boy's  size 
match  to  light  a  cigarette  with.  Gurry-kids, 
booby-hatches — not  even  a  stray  floatin'  thole-pin 
left  of  the  dories."  After  which  he  had  time  for 
the  watch.  "  So  there  you  are,  eh?  And  which 
of  you  two  guardian  angels  was  it  left  that  hatch 
open?  Which?  Nobody?  It  opened  itself,  I 
s'pose.  It'll  get  so  a  man  won't  dare  to  turn 
208 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

in  for  a  nap  'thout  he  has  a  rubber  suit  on.  If 
we  get  that  cabin  dry  in  a  month  we'll  be  doin' 
well.     And  as  fine  a  fire  in  the  stove " 

"  Wet  the  bunks,  Skipper?  "  queried  Gillis. 

"Wet  the  bunks,  you  blithering  idjit?  Wet, 
is  it?"  He  regarded  Gillis  more  curiously,  then 
gave  him  up;  and  stepping  on  deck,  followed  by 
the  rest  of  the  cabin  gang,  mingled  in  the  waist 
with  the  crowd  from  the  forecYle. 

All  hands  gazed  disconsolately  about  the  deck, 
but,  wise  men  all,  allowed  the  Skipper  to  do  the 
talking.  "  If  this  ain't  been  the  twistedest,  un- 
luckiest  trip !  Five  weeks  from  home,  and 
what've  we  got  to  show?  Lost  half  our  gear,  and 
'most  lost  four  men  and  two  dories.  And  now 
we've  lost  the  dories  altogether — and  every  blessed 
thing  that  ain't  bolted  to  her  deck.  Blessed  if 
I  don't  think  when  I  get  home  I'll  go  coastering! 
Yes,  sir,  coastering.  Cripes,  but  look — even  the 
rails  gone  from  her!  Look,  will  you,  no  more 
than  the  stanchions  left  to  her." 

11  A  clean  deck,  Skipper,  makes  good  sailin'," 
put  in  Sam  from  the  gaff. 

11  Does  it,  you — you — I  b'lieve  'twas  you,  Sam 
Leary,  left  that  slide  open.  A  clean  deck  makes 
good  sailing,  do  it?  Well,  try  her  on  sailing, 
then.  Come  off  that  gaff,  you  menagerie  mon- 
key, and  give  the  gang  a  chance  to  loose  that 
209 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

mains'l.  That's  what.  Slap  it  to  her  and  put 
for  home.  And  drive  her.  If  we  can't  do  noth- 
ing else,  we  c'n  make  a  good  passage  of  it." 

And  with  everything  on,  away  went  the  deck- 
swept  Buccaneer  to  the  west'ard. 


Ill 


The  master  of  the  bark  Henry  Fuller,  ma- 
hogany-laden and  Boston-bound,  and,  now  to 
anchor  in  Chatham  Harbor  on  the  Cape  Cod 
shore,  stood  conning  a  telegram. 

"  In  two  hours  or  so  now  he  ought  to  be  out- 
side and  waiting  for  us.  '  Slip  your  chains  and  let 
her  go.'  All  right.  Only,  instead  of  slipping 
I'll  see  that  they  part — in  the  most  natural  way 
in  the  world — and  out  we'll  go  proper." 

And  out  she  went,  threatening  all  sorts  of  de- 
struction, but  curiously  missing  whatever  lay  in 
her  road.  Thus  far  all  had  gone  well.  But  the 
best-laid  plans 

Instead  of  a  moderate  gale,  the  master  of  the 
Fuller  found  a  blizzard  to  combat — a  north- 
wester, which  in  winter  is  always  cold.  This  one 
was  so  cold  that  in  the  first  sweep  of  it  they  almost 
froze  up — in  fact,  came  so  near  to  freezing  that 
210 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

by  midnight  all  hands  were  spending  more  time 
below  than  on  deck  in  the  effort  to  keep  warm. 

11  Why  in  the  devil's  name  didn't  he  warn  me 
of  this? — up  there  in  Boston,  where  they  have 
all  kinds  of  weather-bureau  information.  Why 
in  the  devil's  name  didn't  he?"  complained  the 
master  of  the  Henry  Fuller. 

The  Fuller,  to  lend  a  good  color  by  and  by  to 
the  story  of  the  wreckage  and  rescue,  had  to  have 
a  leak.  The  leak  had  been  provided  for  at  the 
same  time  that  the  cables  were  chiselled.  So  that 
was  all  right.  But  the  leak  meanwhile  had  begun 
to  grow.  Whereas  the  Fuller's  captain  had 
counted  on  two  men  to  work  pumps,  or  four  seem- 
ing to  be  working  desperately  as  the  rescuers  ap- 
proached, there  were  now  four  men  who  really 
had  to  toil  without  cessation  to  keep  the  ship  dry. 

It  grew  colder.  The  coldest  wind  of  all  that 
ruffles  the  North  Atlantic  is  a  northwester,  and 
this  was  an  exceptionally  cold  northwester.  The 
bark  began  to  ice  up  fast,  and  so  many  extra  men 
were  needed  to  chop  the  ice  off  her  that  there  were 
not  enough  left  to  take  sail  off.  When  out  from 
the  lee  of  the  land  they  began  to  feel  the  real 
force  of  the  wind,  and  so  unloosed  sails  were 
blown  off  before  they  could  be  set.  Then  they 
hove  her  to.  But  a  square-rigger  doesn't  stay 
hove-to  like  a  fore-and-after,  and  the  Fuller  went 
211 


The  Salving   of  the  Bark  Fuller 

sliding  off  to  leeward;  and  sliding  too  far  to  lee- 
ward off  the  Cape  Cod  coast  in  a  northwester 
means  to  drift  to  Georges  Shoals,  where  in  places 
is  no  more  than  twelve  feet  of  water.  The  bark 
Henry  Fuller  drew  twenty-one. 

The  master  of  the  Fuller,  far  from  being  as 
crazy  as  Wiley,  to  suit  his  purposes,  had  described 
him  to  Dixey,  was  in  reality  a  long-headed  chap 
and  a  good  seaman,  and  here  he  began  to  think 
and  act.  Calling  such  of  the  crew  as  were  chop- 
ping ice  off  her  deck  and  rail,  he  put  them  to  work 
setting  such  extra  sail  as  he  had  below. 

A  tedious  and  difficult  job  that;  and  danger- 
ous, with  big  seas  threatening  to  overpower  the 
logey  craft.  But  it  had  to  be  done;  and  it  was 
done  after  a  long  and  wracking  night. 

Sail  on  her  again,  the  Skipper  tried  to  beat  her 
around  the  cape.  But  as  a  square-rigger  won't  lay 
hove-to  as  snugly  as  a  fore-and-after,  neither  will 
she  hold  up  to  the  wind  like  a  fore-and-after.  A 
fore-and-after  always  for  coasting  work;  a  square- 
rigger  for  trade-winds  and  the  wide  ocean  wherein 
to  navigate. 

The  Fuller  would  not  do  it ;  nor  could  her  mas- 
ter work  her  under  the  lee  of  the  land.  What 
with  the  water  in  her  hold,  the  ice  on  her  hull, 
and  her  insufficiency  of  sail,  she  only  rolled  and 
drifted  in  the  trough  of  the  sea.  And  having  left 
212 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

both  anchors  in  the  harbor  of  Chatham,  he  could 
get  no  grip  of  bottom  to  hold  her.  However,  he 
could  do  the  next  best  thing — he  could  lay  her 
to  a  drag.  So  getting  several  of  the  mahogany 
logs  out  of  her  hold,  the  crew  lashed  them  to- 
gether, and,  working  under  protest,  mutinous  al- 
most in  their  free  discussion  of  things,  they  hoisted 
the  drag  up  and  dropped  it  over  the  rail  after 
great  exertion. 

It  was  again  night,  and  still  no  signs  of  a 
rescuing  tug.  Another  private  glance  at  the  tele- 
gram revealed  nothing  new.  "  We're  altogether 
too  near  the  shoals  for  Wiley,"  muttered  the 
captain  of  the  Fuller,  "  and  even  if  we  weren't, 
I  guess  he's  having  all  he  wants  to  look  after  him- 
self in  this  gale.  I  wonder  is  she  drifting  fast? 
The  lead  there,  fellows — give  her  the  lead,  and 
see  what's  under  us." 

One  man  had  life  enough  to  take  a  sounding. 
"  Forty-five  fathom,"  he  called. 

"  Forty-five !  God,  but  we're  going  into  it  I 
Cut  that  drag  adrift  and  let's  get  out  of  here.  Get 
together,  men,  and  make  sail  of  some  kind  till 
we're  by  this  place." 

"What  place  is  it  just,  Captain?" 
"  It's  Georges  North  Shoal  to  looard  of  us." 
They  asked  no  more,  but  worked  with  despera- 
tion.    Frost-bitten,  wet,   hungry,  they  made  sail 
213 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

of  it  in  some  fashion.     Anywhere  for  them  now 
but  Georges  North  Shoal  and  sure  death. 

"  And  once  by  here,  let  her  go  where  she  will 
— I'm  done  with  her,"  announced  the  tired  cap- 
tain of  the  Henry  Fuller. 


IV 


A  schemer  of  fame  was  Dixey  of  the  Ice  King. 
He  stayed  by  the  Durlich  till  the  gale  drove  her 
to  harbor,  and  then  to  harbor  he  ran  with  her.  He 
proposed  to  stay  by  her,  too,  till  further  orders.  A 
proposition  to  tow  a  used-up  tramp  steamer  to  Port- 
land he  waved  off  impatiently.  He  was  playing 
for  bigger  game. 

However,  when  after  forty-eight  hours  in 
Provincetown  Harbor  the  Durlich  showed  no 
signs  of  moving  out,  Dixey  began  to  squirm.  He 
instituted  inquiries.  Between  the  firemen  of  the 
two  towboats  existed  an  amity  of  feeling  that  might 
be  turned  to  profit.  So  to  the  hold  of  the  Durlich 
a  begrimed  party  with  a  quart  of  the  right  stuff  in 
his  overcoat  pocket  found  his  way;  and  returned 
after  an  unconscionably  long  visit,  somewhat  be- 
fuddled, but  able  to  report  that  the  gentleman  in 
the  fur  coat  didn't  calculate  to  expose  his  precious 
life  in  such  weather  again  off  Cape  Cod. 
214 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

Dixey  considered  the  situation  again  in  this  new 
light.  A  long  contemplation  from  all  angles,  and 
he  went  ashore  to  telephone.  He  came  back  again 
and  drew  out  his  charts.  "  H'm !  She's  left  Chat- 
ham and  she's  not  been  reported  yet  in  Boston. 
She  must  be  out  here  somewhere.  But  where, 
just?  "  A  further  thoughtful  whirl  of  a  pair  of 
dividers  on  the  chart.  "  He  mayVe  beat  up  by  the 
Cape,  but  I  don't  think  so.  It's  a  good  chance  he 
went  into  the  North  Shoal,  and  if  he  did,  of  course 
he's  lost.  But  in  case  he  did  get  by — in  case  he 
did — "  Dixey  whistled  down  the  tube  to  his  engi- 
neer.   u  Warm  her  up  and  we'll  get  out  of  here." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Dixey  in  time  sighted 
the  leaking  bark,  to  every  appearance  a  sinking 
bark,  with  a  crew  of  imploring,  frost-bitten  men  to 
her  iced-up  rail. 

The  master  of  the  bark  told  a  story  of  extreme 
hardship,  of  just  escaping  being  lost  on  the  shoals 
of  Georges. 

"The  North  Shoal?" 

u  Aye,  the  North  Shoal.  We  all  but  bumped, 
we  were  that  handy  to  it.  A  dozen  times  we 
thought  we  were  lost.  I  don't  understand  it  my- 
self, but  we  worked  by,  and  here  we  are — our  hold 
full  of  water,  everything  soaked  in  the  cabin  and 
forec's'le,  where  the  seas  wet  everything  down. 
Nothing  to  eat,  no  fire  fore  or  aft,  and  we're  most 
215 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

froze  up.  Put  a  boat  out  and  take  us  off,  for  God's 
sake !  " 

"  Goin'  to  abandon  her?  "  Dixey's  voice  almost 
betrayed  his  anxiety. 

11  Abandon  her?  Yes,  and  get  as  far  away  from 
her  as  anybody  will  take  us.  Why,  man,  we're 
froze  up,  and  she's  sinking !  " 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  keep  some  of  your 
men  aboard  pumpin'  her  out  and  take  a  line  from 
me  so  I  can  tow  you  in?  This  steamer  of  mine 
could  walk  you  home  at  a  six-knot  clip,  deep  as  you 
are.  It'd  mean  a  lot  of  money  to  me.  What  d'y' 
say?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  wouldn't  stay  aboard  her  another 
hour,  let  alone  the  men,  for  millions.  You  haven't 
any  notion  of  how  things  are  aboard  of  her. 
Everything  wet  down  below,  grub  and  bedding 
both,  and  solid  ice,  man,  from  rail  to  rail — likely 
to  go  down  under  our  feet  any  minute.  And  here's 
some  of  these  men  half  wild  with  suffering.  Take 
us  off,  and  do  what  you  please  with  her  afterward. 
For  all  I  care  she's  yours — she's  anybody's  that'll 
take  us  off." 

"  Blest  if  I  don't  try  and  take  them  off  just 
the  same."  Dixey  waved  to  his  mate  to  unlash  the 
boat. 

The  deck-hands  of  the  Ice  King  seldom  had  oc- 
casion to  launch  a  boat,  and  now  they  made  a  mess 
216 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

of  it.  When  they  should  have  fended  the  boat  off, 
they  allowed  the  sea  to  bear  it  in.  Against  the  side 
of  the  towboat  it  came  crashing. 

Dixey  swore  blue  oaths  from  the  pilot-house. 
"  What  in  the  name  of  Beelzebub  you  tryin'  to  do? 
Stove  in,  is  she?  " 

u  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  mate. 

"Bad?" 

14  So  bad  that  I  wouldn't  want  to  ask  any  men 
to  go  in  her — and  the  men  don't  want  to  go, 
either." 

11  That  so?  A  fine  lot  of  able  seamen!  Well, 
they'll  have  to  take  a  line — "  He  hailed  the  bark. 
M  We  can't  help  you  unless  you'll  take  a  line  and 
let  us  tow  you." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  other  boat?  " 

"  They'd  smash  that,  too,  and " 

"  Ho,  Captain — "  it  was  the  voice  of  one  of  the 
bark's  crew — "  here's  a  sail  bearing  down." 


The  sea-swept  Buccaneer,  bucking  the  north- 
wester, was  putting  in  great  licks  on  the  southerly 
tack.  Suddenly  the  forward  watch,  trying  to  keep 
warm  in  the  lee  of  a  bit  of  canvas  tacked  to  the 
weather  fore-rigging,  spied  an  abandoned  vessel. 
217 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

11  Wreck  O !  "  his  voice  rang  above  the  gale. 
Crump  Taylor  and  half  the  crew  came  piling  up 
to  the  tumbling  deck. 

"  Where  away?  Sure  enough !  Let's  see  again. 
That's  what — a  wreck !  " 

The  fast-sailing  Buccaneer  was  soon  abreast  of 
her.  "  Jibe  her  over  and  sail  around  her — let's 
have  a  closer  look,"  said  Crump,  and  the  man  at 
the  wheel  did  as  bid. 

"  She's  pretty  low,  and  all  iced  up.  She  looks 
bad,  but  you  never  can  tell.  What  the  devil's  that 
big  tug  doin',  and  not  helpin'  her?  But  no  matter 
what  he's  doin' — drop  alongside  there — not  too 
close.  One  roll  of  her  atop  of  us  and  our  names'd 
be  in  the  papers  with  the  fine  notices  they  give  a 
man  when  he's  dead.  *  An  honor  to  their  profes- 
sion,' '  Too  bad  they  died,'  and  so  on — all  fine 
enough,  but  not  healthy.  Hi,  aboard  the  bark — 
what's  wrong?  " 

Again  was  the  story  told — of  the  harrowing 
drift  past  the  edge  of  the  shoals  and  their  present 
plight.  "  Take  us  off,"  it  was  then — "  for  God's 
sake,  take  us  off !  " 

"  We  got  no  boat,"  said  Crump  to  that.  "  But 
wait,  there's  that  tug,"  and  motioning  to  the  wheel, 
11  J°g  °ver  to  the  tug." 

"  Those  men  want  to  be  taken  off,"  hailed  Crump 
when  he  was  close  to  the  towboat. 
218 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"Well?"  saidDixey. 

"  And  you  got  two  boats?  " 

"  Yes,  and  one  already  smashed  trying  to  put  it 
over." 

14  Well,  there's  the  other." 

"  And  smash  that,  too?  " 

u  Well,  I'll  be  damned — and  a  frost-bitten  crew 
alongside — and  their  vessel  sinkin'  under  their  feet. 
How  about  the  busted  one  towin'  astern?  " 

"  It's  full  of  water." 

"  Well,  cast  her  adrift,  and  we'll  stand  by  and 
pick  her  up  and  patch  her  up  and  take  the  bark's 
crew  off  with  her." 

"  Lord,  you're  the  devil  and  all,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Now,  what  d'y'  think  o'  that?  "  was  all  the 
disgusted  Crump  could  splutter  by  way  of  condem- 
nation. He  turned  to  his  crew.  u  All  there's  to  it 
is,  we'll  have  to  get  'em  off  ourselves." 

11  But  how'll  we  get  'em  off,  Skipper,  without 
a  boat?" 

"  I  know."  Sam  Leary  bobbed  up.  "  Let  'em 
run  a  line  from  their  masthead  to  a  block  in  our 
riggin'  and  again  a  block  on  deck  with  a  couple  of 
men  standin'  by  to  haul  and  slack,  and  let  them 
come  down  the  incline  like's  if  'twas  a  breeches 
buoy." 

"  Sam,"  said  Crump  admiringly,  "  but  you're 
sure  a  wizard." 

219 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

Crump  hailed  to  the  bark  and  explained.  The 
bark's  crew  did  their  share.  One  after  the  other 
they  came  whizzing  down  to  the  deck  of  the  fisher- 
man. Her  captain,  the  last  to  leave,  set  fire  to  the 
few  dry  places  below  before  he  went.  An  excru- 
ciating half-hour  it  was,  but  at  last  the  crew  of  the 
bark  were  on  the  deck  of  the  schooner.  "  And  now 
go  below,"  commanded  Crump,  "  and  turn  into  the 
dry  blankets.  In  five  minutes  the  cook'll  have  you 
full  of  hot  coffee." 

Seeing  the  strangers  on  the  way  to  comparative 
comfort,  he  returned  to  active  business.  Crump 
was  ever  a  man  of  action. 

"  Who's  in  for  salvage?  " 

11  Me !  "  said  eighteen  members. 

"  And  who'll  be  the  prize  crew?  " 

"  Me !  "  said  nineteen,  this  count  including  the 
cook,  just  then  running  aft  with  more  hot  coffee. 
The  nineteen,  and  doubtless  Crump  also,  had 
visions  of  an  adventure  that  might  yet  net  them  a 
good  trip. 

"  And  now  to  get  aboard.  How'll  we  get  a  man 
aboard  her  for  a  starter?  How  about  that,  Sam? 
We  can't  go  up  the  way  they  came  down,  can  we  ? 
Get  your  head  to  working." 

"  Why,    swing   aboard   by   our   dory   taykles. 
When  we  roll  down  and  our  mastheads  are  'most 
over  her  deck,  a  man  can  let  go  and  drop  off." 
220 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

11  And  suppose  a  man  misses?  "  Crump  put  the 
question  like  a  lecturer  in  front  of  a  class. 

"  He  must'nt  miss — unless  he's  an  Ai  swimmer. 
If  he " 

"  0  Skipper,  they're  making  ready  to  put  over 
a  boat  from  the  tug !  " 

"  The  devil — tryin'  to  steal  our  prize !  Get  a 
move  on,  fellows!  If  they're  half-way  smart 
they'll  beat  us  out,  and  you  know  marine  law — 
whoever  puts  the  first  man  aboard  c'n  claim  salvage 
rights.  We  got  to  beat  'em,  Sam,  and  that  dory- 
taykle  scheme's  not  quick  enough.  How'll  we  do 
it  now?  " 

"  If  you're  good  and  careful  I'll  try  the  main- 
boom  jump.  But  you  got  to  be  careful — in  this 
sea,  Skipper." 

"  All  right.  Sail  around  her  again,"  called 
Crump  to  the  wheelsman.  u  Now,  fellows,  when 
she's  comin'  afore  it  let  her  main  sheet  run  to  the 
knot,  and  put  the  boom  taykle  to  her  and  be  sure 
to  choke  it  up  hard  and  tight.  This  no  place 
for  accidents." 

Which  they  did,  and  as  the  Buccaneer  came 

flying  down  toward  the  stern  of  the  bark,  Sam 

Leary  ran  out  on  the  boom,  which  was  then  at  right 

angles  to  her  rail,  leaning  against  the  sail  as  he 

ran.    At  the  end  of  the  boom  he  gathered  himself 

for  the  leap.     "  Steady,  Skipper — you  know  what 

it  means  if  I  miss." 

221 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  Trust  me,  Sammie."  Crump  held  the  wheel, 
and  in  the  touch  of  his  hand  was  the  full  genius  of 
steering.  "  Trust  me,  Sammie,"  he  repeated,  while 
Sam  again  gathered  himself,  and  from  under  the 
stern  of  the  bark,  the  Buccaneer  lifting  to  a  sea, 
he  made  the  jump.  It  was  a  lesson  in  helpfulness 
to  see,  at  the  psychological  moment,  the  entire 
crew's  arms  unconsciously  raised  to  waft  him  on. 

Sam's  feet  hit  the  icy  rail,  and  away  he  went, 
skating  half  the  length  of  her  quarter  and  coming 
down — bam !  on  the  seat  of  his  oilskins. 

"  Hurt  you,  Sammie?  "  came  sympathetic  voices 
from  the  deck  of  the  Buccaneer. 

"  Never  jarred  me,"  affirmed  Sam,  and  waved 
his  hand  at  the  discomfited  master  of  the  tugboat. 

"  Yes,"  commented  Crump,  looking  over  to  the 
tug,  "  that  does  for  his  salvage.  And  now  I'll 
put  her  alongside,  Sammie,  and  we'll  try  your  dory- 
taykle  scheme." 

When  Crump  had  his  tackles  rigged  he  called 
out:  "I'll  hoist  the  men  up  and  let  'em  drop 
aboard.  Only  you  run  an  end  of  a  halyard  from 
the  bark,  Sammie,  to  haul  'em  well  inboard." 

"  And  tell  'em  what  I  said  about  not  missing, 
Skipper." 

"  I'll  give  'em  written  instructions,"  said  Crump 
to  that. 

14  Just  like  putting  fish  out  on  the  dock,  ain't 

222 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

it?  "  hallooed  the  first  man,  while  he  was  still  in 
the  air.  Down  he  came — plump!  and  his  teeth 
rattled  when  he  hit  the  upheaving  deck. 

"  Hurry  up,  a  few  more  of  you,  and  help  to  put 
out  the  fire  here — this  no  place  for  jokes." 

When  he  had  seven  men,  Sam  waved  an  arm  to 
Crump.     "  No  more,  no  more,  Skipper." 

"  But  me,  Skipper,  me !  "  appealed  every  indi- 
vidual one  of  those  left  behind. 

"  No." 

Despite  that,  "Just  me!"  a  half  dozen  men 
with  uplifted  arms  implored  the  Skipper.  "  Just 
me,  Skipper,  just  me !  "  Most  persistent  of  all 
was  young  Gillis.  "  Just  me,  and  make  a  good 
prize  crew.  That'll  be  eight  men  and  myself — 
nine  men  all  told.  Luck  in  odd  numbers.  Be- 
sides, I'm  Sam's  watch-mate,  and  Sam  said  he 
never  had  a  watch-mate  like  me." 

"  H'm — I  cal'late  that's  right.  Just  you,  then, 
but  hurry." 

Gillis  hurried,  so  much  so  that  instead  of  drop- 
ping aboard  the  bark  he  fell  into  the  sea  between 
the  bark  and  the  schooner. 

He  came  spluttering  to  the  top.  "  Heave  me  a 
line,  somebody !  "  A  dozen  lines  were  hove  at  him 
and  two  draw  buckets ;  one,  hitting  him  on  the  head, 
all  but  drove  him  under  again. 

"Lord,  don't  kill  me!" 
223 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  There's  a  fine  waste  of  draw  buckets,"  com- 
mented one  of  the  prize  crew  ere  they  had  him 
safe  on  the  bark. 

"  Oh,  but  that  fire  feels  good !  "  chattered  Gillis, 
and  took  station  by  the  main  hatch,  where  he  might 
heave  buckets  of  water  on  the  fire  without  remov- 
ing too  far  from  the  heat  of  it. 

It  took  them  the  better  part  of  two  hours  to 
master  the  fire.  "  To  the  pumps !  "  said  Sam  then, 
and,  double-manned  by  fresh  vigorous  men,  the 
pumps  soon  began  to  lessen  the  deluge  in  the 
hold. 

"  And  now  make  sail,  Sam,"  called  Crump  from 
the  Buccaneer. 

"  Aye.  Who's  ever  been  square-riggin'  ?  "  asked 
Sam  of  his  prize  crew  then.  Two  men  answered 
to  that. 

11  You'll  be  captain  of  one  watch,  and  you  of 
the  other.  That's  for  knowin'  about  a  square- 
rigger.    And  now  let's  make  sail." 

They  could  not  make  sail  very  well,  however, 
because  there  was  not  sail  enough  to  make — that 
is,  to  set  sail  as  it  should  be  set  on  a  square-rigger. 
But  there  was  enough  for  half-sails,  and  they  made 
half-sails  for  her  accordingly. 

"  Now  she's  a  fore-and-after,  isn't  she?  "  com- 
mented Sam.    "  All  right,  now — we  can  do  some- 
thin'  with  her  now — hah,  what?" 
224 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  Yes,  and  we  won't  need  any  captains  of 
watches  in  her,  will  we,  Sam?"  queried  Gillis, 
thereby  betraying  a  slight  jealousy  of  the  superior 
ranks. 

"That's  so — we  won't,  will  we?  You  two 
square-riggers,  you  Charlie  and  you  Dinnie, 
you'll  be  just  ordinary  hands  again." 

"  Well,  well,  ordinary  hands  ain't  bad — there'll 
be  good  prize  money  out  of  this,  Sam." 

11  If  we  keep  her  afloat  there'll  be." 

"  Oh,  we'll  keep  her  afloat,  Sam." 

"  It's  good  you  think  so.  But  to  the  wheel  now. 
Who's  first  watch?" 

"  O  Sam  " — Gillis  was  peering  into  the  binnacle 
— "  her  compass  is  busted!  " 

Sam  ran  aft  to  see  for  himself.  "  So  it  is.  Man, 
but  they've  had  crazy  doin's  aboard  this  one." 

11  Aye,  and  her  rudder's  been  pounded  off,"  came 
from  another. 

"No  compass  and  no  rudder,  hah?  Wouldn't 
that  jolt  you,  though?  Well — "  Sam  looked 
around.  "  O  Skipper,"  he  hailed  to  his  vessel, 
M  you'll  have  to  come  under  our  stern  and  make 
the  Buccaneer  act  as  a  rudder  for  this  one." 

"  It's  easy  done,"  said  Crump,  and  passed  up 
the  lines  to  hold  the  Buccaneer  in  proper  fashion 
to  the  bark. 

With  everything  fast  and  taut  and  the  bark  be- 
225 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

ginning  to  show  signs  of  life,  the  Ice  King  ranged 
alongside  the  Buccaneer. 

Dixey's  head  was  poked  out  the  pilot-house.  "  I 
say,  Captain,"  he  called,  "  you'll  never  be  able  to 
beat  home  with  her.  What  d'y'  say  if  you  take 
our  line  and  we  tow  you  both  to  Boston — or 
Gloucester?  It's  out  of  the  question  you  gettin' 
her  home  under  sail.  You  keep  your  gang  aboard 
to  keep  her  pumped  out,  and  I'll  tow  her  and  we'll 
split  the  salvage.  What  d'y'  say?  You'll  never 
see  home  and  you  hang  on  to  her." 

"  And  you  the  man  wouldn't  lend  us  your  old 
boat?  "  called  back  Crump. 

"  That's  all  right,  Captain.  Business  is  busi- 
ness. Better  take  my  line.  You'll  never  see 
home  and  you  hang  on  to  her  that  way." 

Sam  had  to  put  in  a  word  here.  "  Don't  you 
take  any  old  line  from  him,  Skipper.  Fine  days 
when  steamboat  men  c'n  tell  us  our  business !  " 

"  No  fear  of  me,  Sam.  Sheer  off,  you,"  and 
Crump  waved  the  tug  contemptuously  away. 

With  a  final  word  from  the  pilot-house,  "  Well, 
don't  blame  me  if  you  lose  your  prize  and  your 
men  both,"  the  big  sea  tug  moved  toward  the 
northwest,  where  soon  she  was  lost  in  the  haze. 


226 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 


VI 


With  the  bark  under  weigh,  Sam  Leary  organ- 
ized his  crew.  Four  men  to  the  pumps  and  four 
men  to  chop  ice,  and  himself  everywhere — alow 
and  aloft,  pumping  water,  chopping  ice,  and  back 
to  the  stern  to  advise  with  Crump  Taylor  as  to  the 
course. 

11  How's  she  doin'  ?  "  Sam  would  call. 

"  Fine !  fine !  Go  on — all  right.  I  think  she's 
liftin'  a  mite." 

"Think  so?"  and  Sam,  much  cheered,  would 
dash  around  deck  again. 

The  ice  was  a  toilsome  proposition.  It  made 
about  as  fast  as  they  could  clear  it.  "  I  see  them 
harvesting  ice  on  the  Kennebec  one  winter,"  said 
young  Gillis,  by  way  of  drawing  an  extra  breath — 
"  horses  and  ice-cutters — and  that's  what  we  ought 
to  have  here." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  retorted  Sam,  "  and  wagons  to 
carry  it  off,  and  ice-boats  sailin'  around  with  cush- 
ions and  young  ladies  in  furs  in  'em,  and  a  little 
automobile  engine  to  work  the  pumps,  so  all  you'd 
have  to  do  would  be  to  stand  watch  once  in  a  while 
and  go  below  and  mug  up  whenever  you  felt  like 


it." 


227 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  There,"  exclaimed  Gillis,  "  I  knew  there  was 
something  I  forgot!  What  we  goin'  to  do  about 
eatin'  ?    There's  no  grub  aboard  this  one." 

14  None  at  all?    How  d'y'  know?  " 

M  Oh,  I  been  below." 

11  Trust  you.  At  eatin'  or  watchin'  out  for  seas 
you're  a  certificated  master.  '  Here's  one  I  think 
is  comin'  aboard,'  he  says  the  other  day,  and  she 
high  as  Mount  Shasta  'most,  and  comin'  like  a  rail- 
road train.  And  so  no  grub,  eh?  Well,  the  Skip- 
per'll  have  to  manage  some  way  to  heave  some 
aboard.  But  quit  your  conversational  chattin'  now 
and  keep  pumpin' — and  you  others  go  to  choppin'. 
Slack  up,  and  the  first  thing  you  know  this  one'll  go 
down — plumb !  like  a  rock — and  then  where'll  we 
be?" 

"  And  our  salvage,  Sam — where'd  that  be,  too, 
hah?" 

"  That's  so,  our  salvage.  And  'tisn't  only  sal- 
vage, but  we  want  to  show  that  tug-boat  crowd,  and 
those  bark  people  that  cast  her  off,  that  we  c'n  get 
her  home.  But  how's  the  pumps?  Three  thou- 
sand strokes  yet?  Isn't  that  the  devil,  though? 
And  ice  enough  aboard  yet  to  make  a  winter's  crop 
for  one  of  them  Boston  companies  with  the  fleet 
of  yellow  wagons,  yes.  But  keep  to  it,  fellows,  and 
by'n'by  we'll  see  about  grub." 

Later,  Sam  paid  out  a  long  line,  which  Crump 
228 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

took  aboard  the  Buccaneer  and  attached  to  a  great 
hunk  of  beef,  wrapped  in  four  thicknesses  of  oil- 
skins, and  a  can  of  hot  coffee,  tightly  stoppered. 
The  beef  reached  the  bark  somewhat  cooled,  but  in 
bulk  entire.  As  to  the  can,  the  stopper  was  buffeted 
out  of  that,  and  only  salt  water  was  there  when 
Sam  hauled  it  in. 

"Now  what  dy  think  of  that,  Skipper?" 

11  That's  the  devil,  ain't  it?  But  better  luck  next 
time." 

"Lord,  I  hope  so!" 

All  that  night  the  prize  crew  labored.  The 
sails  needed  but  small  attention.  Hauling  in  or 
paying  out  occasionally  sufficed  for  them,  she  being 
on  the  one  tack  all  night;  but  the  hull  of  the  bark 
setting  so  low  made  the  trouble.  The  seas  broke 
almost  continuously  over  her,  and  added  to  that 
were  the  icy  decks,  with  footing  so  uncertain  that 
at  any  moment  a  man  was  likely  to  be  picked  up 
and  hurled  into  the  roaring  black  void.  When  two 
or  three  men  had  been  hove  into  the  lee  scuppers, 
and  from  there  miraculously  rescued,  Sam  saw  to  it 
that  thereafter  every  man  worked  with  a  life-line 
about  him. 

Sam  himself  was  fettered  by  no  lashings.     His 

work  called  for  too  extensive  an  activity.    He  had 

to  be  not  only  aft,  but  forward,  and  aloft  as  well  as 

below.     They  could  hear  him  moving  in  the  black- 

229 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

ness,  grabbing  sheets  or  halyards,  fife-rail  or  rig- 
ging, as  he  stumbled  from  one  place  to  another. 
Regularly  did  he  disperse  words  of  cheer.  u  We'll 
get  home  yet,  fellows,  and  fool  'em  all — and  then  I 
For  you  home-bound  craft,  you  that  got  families, 
there's  the  wife  who'll  have  new  dresses  and  the 
children  copper-toed  boots,  and  a  carriage  for  the 
baby,  with  springs  in  it.  Man,  but  the  time  you'll 
all  have !  And  the  time  we'll  have,  we  privateers 
—hah,  Gillis?" 

"  M-m !  "  murmured  Gillis  from  the  region  of 
the  port  pump-brake,  and  forced  new  energy  into 
arms  that  long  ago  he  had  thought  were  beyond 
revival. 

Morning  came,  and  with  it  an  increase  of  wind 
and  cold.  Crump,  from  the  end  of  the  Buccaneer's 
bowsprit,  where  he  managed  to  hang  by  the  aid  of 
the  jib-stay,  hailed  Sam  and  offered  to  put  on  fresh 
men. 

u  No,"  said  Sam,  u  we'll  stick  it  out  a  while 
longer." 

"  But  by'n'by  it'll  be  too  rough,  Sammie,  and 
we  won't  be  able  to  take  you  off." 

"  Oh,  well  then,  no  harm — we'll  stick  it  out 
some  way." 

11  All  right,  have  your  way,"  and  Crump  went 
back  to  the  deck  of  his  vessel. 

That  afternoon  it  began  to  look  bad  for  the 
230 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

bark  and  the  men  aboard  her.  It  was  her  captain, 
refreshed  from  a  twenty-four  hours'  sleep  below, 
who  thoughtlessly  passed  his  opinion  when  he,  the 
first  of  his  crew  to  revive,  poked  his  head  above 
the  companion-way  and  was  astonished  by  the  sight 
of  the  ship  that  he  thought  he  had  scuttled. 
"What — she  on  top  of  the  water  yet!  "  From 
the  bark  his  eyes  roved  to  the  derailed  ice-covered 
deck  of  the  little  Buccaneer,  then  up  to  Sam  and 
his  toiling  gang  again.  "  Well,  they  are  damn 
fools,  ain't  they,  to  think  they'll  ever  get  her 
home?" 

He  said  that  to  Crump,  who  answered  softly: 
"  Now,  Captain,  I  don't  want  to  jar  your  feelings 
any,  but  if  you  don't  do  one  of  two  things — go 
below  and  stay  there,  or  draw  the  hatch  over  your 
face  if  you  stay  up  here — then  I'm  af eared  I'll 
have  to  pick  you  up  and  tuck  you  away  under  the 
run  or  somewhere  else  where  you  can't  be  heard 
for  a  while.  Damn  fools,  eh?"  snorted  Crump, 
and  in  sheer  derision  of  some  people's  judgment 
spat  several  fathoms  to  leeward. 

It  turned  out  as  Crump  had  predicted  in  the 
morning — still  heavier  weather  for  that  afternoon 
and  night.  Just  when  Sam  was  demonstrating  with 
a  long  pole  that  there  was  at  least  a  foot  less  water 
in  her  hold,  the  wind  and  sea  began  to  make. 
Crump  offered  to  attempt  to  put  fresh  men  aboard, 
231 


I 


The   Salving  of  the  Bark   Fuller 

but  Sam  waved  him  off.  "  No  use,  Skipper,  run- 
nin'  extra  risk  for  the  gang — you'd  lose  some  of 
'em.  We'll  stick  it  out — we'll  make  out  some 
way." 

Throughout  that  night  the  men  on  the  bark 
toiled  terribly.  Chop  ice  and  man  pumps  it  was, 
with  not  even  time  to  crack  a  joke  or  indulge  in 
occasional  cheering  reminiscence.  There  was  not 
time  during  most  of  the  night  even  to  carry  to  the 
rail  and  throw  to  leeward  the  chopped  ice.  So  they 
cut  it  into  large  blocks  and  piled  them  up  two  or 
three  tiers  high  and  there  allowed  them  to  stay 
until  by  and  by,  the  bark  heaving  down  sufficiently, 
away  they  went  in  a  grand  slide  overboard. 
u  Everybody  sashay,"  Sam  would  cry  then,  and 
waft  them  overboard  with  graceful  arms.  And 
yet,  exhausting  as  was  the  ice-chopping,  the  pump- 
ing was  even  more  so.  It  was  so  terribly  monoto- 
nous to  men  accustomed  to  lively  action.  No 
variety  to  pumping  water  out  of  a  ship's  hold; 
never  a  chance  to  put  in  a  fancy  stroke  or  shift 
hands,  as  in  ice-chopping.  Up  and  down — always 
that — up  and  down ;  and  when  a  ship  is  making  as 
fast  as  she  is  lightened,  never  an  inch  of  encourage- 
ment from  the  sounding  pole.  Sam  had  to  cut 
down  the  spells  from  an  hour  to  half  an  hour,  and 
finally  to  fifteen  minutes,  so  terribly  wearing  did 
the  grind  become  to  the  exhausted  men. 
232 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

Sam  himself  had  no  exuberant  vitality  after  that 
second  night;  but  the  unobtrusive  will  was  inflexi- 
ble as  ever,  and  he  had  ever  an  eye  for  those  on  the 
Buccaneer.  "  Skipper,  ain't  she  been  strainin' 
through  the  night?  " 

"  A  little  bit,  Sammie,  a  little  bit." 

14  More  than  a  little,  Skipper — there's  been  too 
much  pumpin'  aboard  you,  too,  for  a  little  strain- 
in'.    How  many  strokes?  " 

"  Oh,  maybe  two  thousand  through  the  night.'* 

"  I  thought  about  that.  And  now  let  me  tell 
you  something,  Skipper — that  kind  of  work  won't 
do  your  vessel  any  partic'lar  good.  It's  a  terrible 
strain.  I  know,  I  know — you  can't  tell  me  a  little 
vessel  like  the  Buccaneer  can  be  a  rudder  to  a  big 
logey  rolling  ship  of  this  one's  size  and  not  show 
signs  of  it.  I  misdoubt  you'll  be  able  to  hang  on 
much  longer." 

"  Much  longer?  Let  me  tell  you,  boy,  we'll 
hang  on  till  you  or  me  goes  under." 

"  No,  you  won't." 

"  Why  won't  we  ?    Who'll  stop  ?  " 

11 1  will.  See  here."  Sam,  balanced  on  the 
taffrail  of  the  bark,  poised  a  sharp-edged  axe 
above  the  lines  that  held  the  Buccaneer  astern. 
11  One  slash  here,  and  one  slash  there,  and  you're 
adrift." 

"  You  just  try  it — just  let  me  see  you  try  it, 
233 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark   Fuller 

Sam  Leary !  "  Crump  in  his  wrath  shook  his  fist 
at  Sam,  and  followed  that  by  furious  orders  to  the 
Buccaneer's  crew.  But  that  fit  over,  he  shook  his 
head.  "  I  misdoubt  that  bark'll  live  the  night  out. 
Blast  her,  blast  her,  I  wish  we'd  never  set  eyes  on 
her!  What's  millions,  let  alone  a  few  thousand 
dollars,  to  men's  lives — and  men  that's  sailed  with 
you,  and  summer  breeze  or  winter  blow  was  always 
there  when  you  wanted  'em?  Damn  you,  Sam 
Leary,  for  an  obstinate  mule,  but  if  ever  I  see  you 
aboard  this  vessel  of  mine  again  you  won't  leave 
it  in  a  hurry  again  to  go  aboard  any  old  sinkin' 
hulk  for  prize  money !  " 

And  still  the  wind  and  sea  increased;  and  just 
before  dark  Sam  appeared  at  the  stern  of  the  bark 
with  the  sharp  axe  in  his  hand.  "  O  Skipper, 
Skipper !  "  he  called. 

"  Aye,  Sammie." 

"  Time  to  part  company." 

"  No,  no,  Sammie — not  yet  awhile." 

11  Yes,  now's  the  time.  There's  nine  of  us  here 
and  twenty-seven  of  you  there.  You  lay  tied  to 
this  one,  and  if  we  go  down  suddenly  in  the  night, 
down  you  go,  too." 

"  No,  no,  Sammie.  I'll  have  two  men  with  axes 
to  the  lines.  I'll  cut,  if  I  see  you  goin' — as  sure  as 
God's  above  me,  I'll  cut." 

"  'Twon't  do,  Skipper.  We  could  roll  under  in 
234 


"You  just  try  it — just  let  me  see  you  try  it,  Sam  Leary." 


The   Salving  of  the   Bark  Fuller 

the  dark  afore  you'd  know  it  and  you'd  get  whirled 
in H 

11  And  even  so,  Sammie — do  you  believe  she'd 
draw  us  under?  " 

"Wouldn't  she?-  If  you  didn't  cut  quick 
enough,  say.  And  if  she  didn't,  you'd  be  caught 
aback,  and  in  this  breeze  you'd  capsize  in  a  wink. 
No,  'twon't  do,  Skipper.  If  we've  got  to  go,  we 
got  to  go,  and  you  goin'  with  us  won't  help.  And 
there's  nine  of  us  and  twenty-seven  of  you."  He 
looked  all  about  him  then — ahead,  abeam,  aloft, 
and  once  more  astern  at  Crump.  "  So  long,  fel- 
lows, if  we're  not  here  in  the  mornin'."  Two  sharp 
slashes  and  the  line  parted ;  wide  apart  fell  the  big 
bark  and  the  little  schooner. 

Crump,  immediately  he  felt  himself  free,  laid 
the  Buccaneer  alongside  as  near  the  bark  as  he 
dared,  and  he  could  dare  a  great  deal. 

"Keep  off!  "called  Sam. 

"  No  more  than  she  is  now,  Sam.  And  if  ever 
she  should  go  down,  tell  the  fellows  to  lash  them- 
selves to  something  or  other  that'll  float  high,  and 
we'll  be  right  there  and  maybe  pick  some  of  you 
up " 

Sam  waved,  the  last  time  they  were  able  to  see 
so  much  as  a  hand  waved  ere  black  night  rolled 
down  on  them. 

From  the  little  schooner  all  hands  watched  the 
235 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

night  out  for  that  spot  in  the  darkness  where  they 
conceived  the  bark  to  be — that  is,  those  that  had 
time  to  spare  from  their  work.  Occasionally  they 
could  catch  from  her  deck  a  call  that  they  knew  to 
be  the  voice  of  Sam  with  his  word  of  cheer.  They 
saw  the  attempts  to  light  torches  on  her,  the  flash 
and  flare,  and  then  the  almost  immediate  dousing 
when  the  sea  washed  aboard. 

But  fortune  attends  the  brave.  She  was  there 
in  the  morning,  rolling  worse  than  ever  and 
lower  in  the  water,  but  still  afloat. 

"  Now,  ain't  that  amazin'?  "  demanded  Crump 
of  one  after  another  of  his  crew.  "  Ain't  it  amaz- 
in'? "  he  demanded  of  the  captain  of  the  bark. 

That  intriguing  party  could  only  shake  his  head 
at  the  miracle  of  it.  "  Still  afloat !  And  when  I 
left  her  I  give  her  about  an  hour.  I  set  her  afire 
myself  with  my  own  hand,"  he  explained,  u  so 
nobody'd  be  misled  into  tryin'  to  save  her.  *  No 
salvage  on  her!  I  said.  *  Another  hour  and  she'll 
be  burned  to  the  water's  edge,  and  then  she'll  sink 
and  trouble  nobody  no  more,'  I  said.  And  a  good 
job  I  thought  it  was,  she  was  that  dangerous- 
lookin'.  And  if  I'd  never  set  a  match  to  her,  she 
was  leakin'  that  bad,  and  that  low  in  the  water! 
And  there  she  is  still  afloat !    Well,  that's  past  me." 

That  afternoon,  the  weather  moderating,  Crump 
sailed  close  up  and  once  more  offered  to  try  to  take 
236 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

off  the  worn-out  gang  of  the  now  wildly  sailing 
bark  and  put  his  own  fresher  men  aboard. 

11  What !  "  exclaimed  Sam — "  leave  her,  and 
after  we  got  her  this  far?  Why  we're  gettin'  to 
love  the  old  hulk.  Let's  finish  the  job,  Skipper, 
so  long's  we  started  it.  Another  day  and  we'll  be 
home." 

"  Sam  Leary,  am  I  skipper,  or  you?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  you're  skipper,  and  if  you 
order  it — order  it,  Skipper — we  got  to  obey." 

"  Well,  come  aboard  here." 

"How?" 

"  Rig  up  that  taykle — the  same  that  hoisted 
your  gang  aboard." 

u  That  taykle  parted  last  night,  Skipper,  and 
it  can't  be  rigged."  If  one  can  imagine  an  impu- 
dent, unshaven,  hollow-eyed  man  in  iced-up  boots, 
beard,  and  oilskins,  then  it  is  possible  to  picture 
Sam  Leary  as  he  leaned  against  the  mizzen-rigging 
of  the  wallowing  derelict  and  smiled  sweetly  at  his 
skipper.  And  imagine  Sam  Leary's  skipper,  after 
a  lot  of  spluttering,  smiling  back,  and  even  at  last 
admitting  himself  beaten. 

"  All  right,  go  ahead.  There's  no  gettin'  past 
you,  Sam  Leary.     Finish  your  cruise  in  her." 

And  Sam  Leary  did  finish  his  cruise  in  her. 
Three  days  later,  such  weary,  weary  men —  But 
let  that  pass.  Three  days  later — and  in  broad  day- 
237 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

light  it  happened,  so  that  their  friends  at  home 
might  share  in  the  full  glory  of  their  achievement 
— they  sailed,  the  bark  leading  and  the  little  fisher- 
man by  way  of  a  rudder  astern,  into  the  harbor  of 
Gloucester,  where  they  fancy  they  know  a  seaman 
when  they  see  one. 


VII 


Of  the  sequence  of  events  that  threw  that  val- 
uable prize  into  their  hands  the  crew  of  the 
Buccaneer  were  not  told  at  that  time;  but,  later, 
young  Gillis,  having  journeyed  to  Boston — there 
in  emulation  of  more  noted  fishermen  the  more 
splendidly  to  disburse  his  prize-money — had  come 
back  minus  his  roll,  but  fat  with  information. 

"  And  there  I  was,  Skipper,  spending  my  money 
like  a — like  a " 

11 — a  drunken  fisherman." 

11  No,  that's  not  how  I  was  goin'  to  put  it,  Skip- 
per. But,  anyway,  there  I  was  dispensin'  refresh- 
ment like  a  gentleman  to  a  few  friends  I'd  met, 
when  along  comes  the  skipper  of  the  tugboat  that 
wanted  us  to  take  his  line  and  we  wouldn't,  you 
mind.  And  he  looks  at  me  hard,  and  at  last  asks 
me  was  I  really  one  of  that  gang  o'  fishermen  that 
238 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

brought  the  mahogany  bark  back  to  port.  And  I 
says,  '  Why  ain't  I,  really  ? '  '  Well,'  he  says, 
1  you  look  so  diff'rent  dressed  up.'  And  I  said  that 
naturally  a  man  that'd  been  bangin'  around  on  the 
Banks  for  five  or  six  weeks  would  look  handsome 
in  oilskins  and  a  gale  of  wind.  That  kind  o'  struck 
him  amidships,  I  guess,  for  he  said  he  didn't  mean 
anything  by  that,  and  goes  on  to  tell  me  how  he 
figured  it  cost  him  twelve  hundred  dollars  chasin' 
up  that  bark — in  tows  he  missed  that  week;  and 
his  friend  here — he  introduced  the  other  steamboat 
man — 'd  got  a  thousand  dollars  just  for  doin'  noth- 
in'  but  layin'  under  the  lee  of  the  Cape  for  three 
days  while  it  blew,  and  then  for  joggin'  around  two 
days  off  the  cape  after  it  moderated.  *  Yes,  and  the 
man  that  paid  me  is  down  the  wharf  now,'  goes 
on  the  second  steamboat  man,  '  and  I  think  he'd 
like  to  meet  some  of  your  crowd.'  And  down  the 
dock  we  went,  and  there  he  was.  I  forget  what  he 
looked  like  in  the  face,  but  he  had  the  swellest  fur 
coat,  big  enough  to  'most  make  a  mains'l  for  the 
Buccaneer  and  fur  nigh  long  enough  for  reef-points 
on  that  same  mains'l,  and  he  shakes  hands  with  me 
and  says  he  didn't  know  whether  to  be  sore  or  not. 
And  just  then  Sam  come  bowlin'  along,  and  he 
says,  'This  must  be  one  of  your  crowd,  too?' 
'  One!  '  I  says —  'one !  Why,  he  had  charge !  ' 
and  just  then  the  first  steamboat  man  he  grabs  Sam 
239 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark   Fuller 

and  says,  '  Well,  I'll  be  damned — why,  you're  the 
fellow  made  the  main-boom  leap !  '  '  What !  '  says 
fur  coat,  and  has  a  good  look  at  Sam.  '  Sure 
enough,'  he  goes  on,  *  you're  the  kind  of  men  I 
ought  to  have  hired  to  salve  the  bark.'  '  Hired? 
what  d'y'  mean?  '  says  Sam.  '  Oh,  nothing,'  says 
fur  coat  to  that;  'but  I'm  done  with  the  salvage 
business.  Let's  have  a  drink,'  and  then  they 
came  so  fast,  reg'lar  ring-a-ring-a-rounder  fash- 
ion, that " 

"  That  the  next  thing  you  knowed  you  had  an 
awful  headache,  and  not  enough  money  to  pay  for 
your  ticket  back  to  Gloucester." 

u  Didn't  I,  though !  Trust  me — me,  Wise 
Aleck,  goin'  to  Boston  'thout  a  return  ticket.  But 
Sam  didn't." 

"  No,  trust  Sam  to  go  the  whole  hog.  How 
much  does  he  want?  " 

"  Twenty,  or  twenty-five,  he  thought  would  do." 

"  Only  twenty-five,  hah?  Mod'rate,  ain't  he? 
Well,  give  me  his  address  and  I'll  telegraph  it  to 
him.    And  how  much  do  you  want  for  yourself?  " 

11  Oh,  about  fifteen  cents  for  a  drink'll  do  me, 
unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

"  'Less  you'd  lend  me  ten  on  the  next  trip." 

"  No,  I  won't  lend  you  ten  on  the  next  trip.    I'll 
give  you  ten  dollars,  if  that'll  do  you." 
240 


The  Salving  of  the  Bark  Fuller 

"  And  why  not  lend  me  the  ten  on  the  next  trip, 
Skipper?" 

"  Because  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  next  trip 
this  winter.  I'm  cal'latin'  to  stay  ashore  a  while. 
This  salvage  business  is  good  enough  for  me  this 
winter.  A  couple  of  months  ashore  won't  hurt  any 
of  us.  And  then  there's  the  Buccaneer  needs  calk- 
in' where  steerin'  that  bark  racked  her,  and  new 
rail,  and  a  few  things  around  deck.  And  that'll 
give  that  streak  of  hard  luck  a  chance  to  run  itself 
out.  So  here  y'are.  I  s'pose  you'll  go  and  blow 
that  now  as  fast  as  you  can?  " 

11 1  guess  that's  right,  too,  Skipper,"  and  up  the 
street  rolled  Gillis,  blithely  singing. 

Crump  gazed  after  him.  "  There's  a  man 
oughter  be  glad  he's  alive  to-day.  But  no,  he  must 
try  and  keep  up  with  men  like  Sam  Leary  that  gets 
fat  on  excitement.  Where's  that  card  o'  Sam's  he 
give  me?  H'm-m — Elite  Hotel,  Canal  Street. 
And  twenty-five  dollars,  eh  ?  He  must  be  cal'latin' 
to  come  home  in  a  automobile.  Well,  after  all,  I 
dunno  but  he's  entitled  to  automobiles  at  that." 


241 


ON  GEORGES  SHOALS 


On  Georges  Shoals 

OH,  but  Dannie  Keating  was  the  happy  man 
that  night!  Under  the  light  of  the  win- 
ter stars  he  drew  her  to  him,  and,  with  her  head 
all  but  resting  on  his  shoulder  and  his  arm  about 
her  waist,  they  came  down  the  shady  side  of  the 
street  together,  and  cared  no  more  for  the 
whistling  wind  than  for  whatever  curious  eyes 
might,  from  behind  drawn  blinds,  be  peeping. 
44  If  anybody's  rubbering,  they're  all  sore,"  said 
Dannie  when  she  protested,  and  again  broke  the 
night  air  with — he  simply  couldn't  help  it — 

"  O  sweetheart  mine,  I  love  thee, 
And  in  all  the  sky  above — see  ! 
No  heart  like  thine,  no  love  like  mine — 
O  sweetheart,  but  I  love  thee  ! M 

Oh,  but  the  blood  was  running  riot  within  him. 
"  Don't  I  love  you,  Katie?  Don't  I?  And  don't 
you  ?  And  don't  we  both  ?  "  and  in  the  shadow 
of  the  steps  of  her  home  he  drew  her  yet  closer 
to  him  and  kissed  her — kissed  her — a  thousand 
245 


On  Georges  Shoals 

times  he  kissed  her  before  she  could  draw  a  free 
breath  again. 

"  And  in  the  morning,  Katie,  I'll  be  putting 
out.  You  won't  see  me,  it'll  be  so  early.  And 
it'll  be  the  last  trip  in  that  old  packet,  though 
maybe  I  oughtn't  say  that  of  her  that's  earned 
a  good  bit  of  money  for  me — earned  enough  to 
pay  for  the  new  one,  Katie — the  new  one  that'll 
be  ready  for  me  the  next  trip  in.  And  then,  Katie 
dear,  we'll  see — as  good  as  anything  of  her  length 
and  beam  out  the  port.  And  have  you  picked  a 
name  for  her  yet?  Yes?  The  Dannie  Keating, 
indeed!  No,  no,  I've  a  ten  times  better  one — 
and  you'd  never  guess,  I'll  bet.  And  she'll  be  a 
vessel!  Every  cent  that  you  saved  for  me,  dear, 
went  into  her." 

"  You  saved  it  yourself,  Dannie." 

"  I  saved?  Lord  bless  you,  Katie,  how  much 
would  ever  I  save  if  I  hadn't  turned  it  over  to 
you  as  fast  as  I  made  it?  How  much  did  I  save 
before  I  met  you?  A  whole  lot,  warn't  it,  now? 
Why,  girl,  the  very  oilskins  I  used  to  wear  would 
be  drawn  against  my  next  trip.  But  it  don't  mat- 
ter which  of  us — every  cent  the  pair  of  us  have 
saved  has  gone  into  her.  And  she'll  be  a  vessel, 
and  then,  if  any  man  sailing  out  of  this  port  thinks 
to  make  me  take  my  mains'l  in " 

"  Hush,  Dannie,  don't  begin  by  being  reckless. 
246 


On  Georges  Shoals 

And  I  wish  you  weren't  going  out  in  the  Pantheon 
again.  She's  so  old,  Dannie,  and  not  the  vessel 
for  a  winter  trip  to  Georges." 

"  Well,  there  is  better.  But  she's  been  a  good 
vessel  to  me,  dear,  and  that  means  to  you,  too. 
And  only  one  more  trip,  and  then  the  fast  and  the 
saucy — the  handsome  Katie  Morrison." 

He  parted  from  her  after  that,  and  from  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway  she  looked  after  him,  her 
heart  jumping  and  herself  all  but  running  after 
him.  Up  the  street  she  watched  him  swing,  so 
straight  and  strong.  Oh,  but  the  shoulders  of 
him !  and  the  spring  to  his  every  stride !  Then 
she  breathed  a  prayer  for  him,  and  went  upstairs 
and  to  her  bed. 

But  she  could  not  sleep.  All  night  long  she 
tossed,  whatever  it  was  possessed  her;  and  in  the 
dawns  she  got  up  to  watch  by  the  window  until 
he  should  come  by  on  his  way  to  the  vessel. 

He  would  come  by,  she  knew.  He  never  yet 
failed  to  go  that  half  dozen  streets  out  of  his 
way  so  that  he  might  look  up  at  her  window.  Oh, 
the  times  that  she  watched  from  behind  the  cur- 
tains— before  she  knew  him  well,  that  was — and 
he  never  suspecting! 

And  he  came  at  last.  It  was  but  five  o'clock 
then,  and  dark — a  winter  morning.  But  she 
needed  no  light.  Long  before  she  could  make 
247 


On  Georges  Shoals 

out  his  figure  she  knew  his  footfall.  How  lightly 
he  trod  for  so  big  a  man — to  his  toes  at  every 
stride,  as  a  strong  man  should.  No  doubt  or  hesi- 
tation there — a  man  to  go  winter  fishing  that,  and 
enjoy  every  whistling  breath  of  it.  And  he  was 
singing  now ! 

«'  O  sweetheart  dear,  I  love  thee!  n 

When  a  man  sings  a  love-song  at  five  o'clock 
of  a  winter's  morning —  She  threw  on  her  moth- 
er's prized  cashmere  shawl  and  ran  down. 

"Dannie!" 

Across  the  street  he  leaped,  three  strides  from 
curb  to  curb  and  two  more  to  the  top  step. 
"Katie — Katie — and  this  cold  morning!" 

"  I  couldn't  let  you  go  by  without  saying  good 
luck  again,  Dannie." 

"  Oh,  the  girl !  "  He  patted  her  head  and  drew 
her  to  him  till  he  felt  her  lips  making  warm  little 
circles  against  his  neck. 

"Dannie?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  I  wish  you'd  stay  at  home  this  trip.  The 
Pantheon  is  old." 

"  Old?    So  she  is.    Not  the  vessel  the  Katie'W 
be — not  by  a  dozen  ratings.     But  Lord,   Katie, 
I've  been  through  too  many  blows  in  her  for  you 
to  be  worrying  now,  dear." 
248 


On   Georges  Shoals 

"  I  know  it,  Dannie,  and  yet  I  wish  you  weren't 
going  this  trip." 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  warn't  myself.  I'd  like  noth- 
ing better  than  to  be  staying  this  month  home 
and  watching  the  new  one  building — to  overhaul 
every  plank  and  bolt  and  thread  of  oakum  that's 
put  in  her.  All  day  long  watch  her  building,  and 
every  night  come  and  tell  you  how  she  is  getting 
on,  the  pair  of  us  side  by  side  before  the  fire. 
That'd  beat  winter  fishing  on  Georges — fighting 
your  way  out  of  the  shoal  water  when  it  comes 
a  no'the-easter,  and  chopping  ice  off  her  to  keep 
her  afloat  when  it  comes  a  no'wester.  Yes,  dear, 
it  cert'nly  would  be  a  comfort — home  here  with 
you  and  watching  the  Katie  building.  But  we 
can't  both  have  comfort,  dear.  You  to  home  and 
me  to  sea  we'll  have  to  be  for  many  years  yet, 
dear.  I'll  go  out  this  trip  as  I  went  out  a  hundred 
of  others  before.  When  I'm  back — why,  'twill  be 
worth  the  trip,  dear,  that  coming  back  to  you." 

"  I'll  be  at  the  dock  this  time,  Dannie." 

u  Then  the  old  Pantheon  won't  be  too  close 
to  the  slip  before  somebody'll  be  making  a  flying 
leap  for  the  cap-log.  There,  there,  dear,  this  one 
trip,  and  then  it'll  be  Mrs.  Dannie  Keating  and 
a  month  ashore — hah,  what!  There's  the  girl! 
But  God  bless  you,  dear,  and  keep  you  till  I'm 
home  again." 

249 


On   Georges  Shoals 

"  Good  luck,   Dannie.     There,  but  Oh,   Dan- 


nie r 

"Yes?" 


Don't  go  yet — just  a  minute  more,  dear." 

He  patted  her  cheek  and  dried  her  eyes,  and 
when  she  wouldn't  stop  sobbing,  he  unbuttoned 
his  coat  and  made  her  rest  her  head  on  his  breast. 
Her  ear  against  the  blue  flannel  shirt,  she  could 
feel  his  heart.  And  it  was  a  heart — like  all  of 
himself,  full  of  strength.  A  cold  winter's  morn- 
ing it  was,  but  here  all  afire.  He  was  right — it 
would  be  a  storm  indeed  when  he  went  under. 
And  yet — she  could  not  help  it — she  broke  into 
sobbing  again. 

"What's  it  now?" 

M  Oh,  Dannie,  last  night  after  I  left  you  I  heard 
my  father  telling  that  another  vessel  had  been 
given  up  for  lost.     Did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I've  heard,  dear." 

11  And  you  never  told  me.  You  tell  me  the 
danger  is  small " 

14  And  'tis  small,  dear.  Sea  room  and  sound 
gear,  and  a  good  vessel  will  live  forever.  Of 
course,  accidents  will  happen — sometimes  some- 
thing parting  at  the  wrong  time,  or  being  run 
down  by  a  steamer  in  the  fog — which  was  what 
happened,  I  don't  doubt,  to  the  Tempest** 

"  Well,  whether  she  was  run  down  by  a  steam- 
250 


On  Georges  Shoals 

er,  or  caught  in  the  shoals,  or  foundered  in  the 
heavy  seas,  isn't  it  all  the  same  to  the  wives  and 
children  of  the  Tempest's  crew?  Think  of  young 
Captain  Rush's  wife.  What  an  awful  thing  for 
her,  Dannie !  " 

"  I  know,  dear,  I  know.  But  hush  now — that's 
the  girl.  And  don't  worry  for  me.  Though  they 
come  masthead  high  and  toss  us  like  we're  a  pine 
chip,  I've  only  to  think  of  you,  Katie,  here  in  the 
doorway  looking  down  the  street  after  me — a  last 
look  for  me  before  I  turn  the  corner.  Only  to 
think  of  that,  and  I'll  laugh — laugh  out  loud  at 
them.  '  Come  on,  you  green-backed  devils ! '  I'll 
say — '  come  on !  You'd  overpower  us,  would  you  ? 
Higher  yet,  high  as  the  clouds,  if  you  want,  and 
the  Pantheon  she'll  ride  you  down.'  And  she 
will,  too,  Katie — the  old  Pantheon's  a  wonder 
hove-to.  Yes,  Katie,  only  last  trip  I  hollered  like 
that  to  'em  one  night,  and " 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't,  Dannie — it's  like  boast- 
ing. 

"  Boasting?  No,  but  seamanship,  girl — sea- 
manship. It's  knowing,  not  guessing — knowing 
how  to  handle  her.  Just  sail  enough  and  wheel 
enough  and  your  wake  setting  so's  to  break  the 
backs  of  them  afore  they  can  come  aboard  with 
their  shoulders  hunched  up,  spitting  foam  and 
roaring  warnings — green-eyed  like.  'Tis  they 
251 


On  Georges  Shoal 


boast  and  threaten,  not  me.  And  if  'tis  to  an 
anchor " 

"  Well,  dear,  don't  talk  that  way  again.  And 
go  now,  while  I'm  strong  to  let  you.  Good  luck, 
Dannie,  and  don't  forget " 

"  Forget  what,  Katie?" 

"  You  know  what." 

"Oh,  well,  tell  me  just  the  same — don't  forget 
what?  "  And  he  laughed  in  advance  to  hear  her 
say  it.  And  she  whispered  it,  and  he  came  nigh 
to  crushing  her  as  he  heard. 

"And  don't  I  love  you,  too,  Katie?" 

"  I  know  it,  Dannie.  Only  with  me,  if  you 
don't  come  back  I  can  never  love  anybody  else 
again — never,  never,  never.     I  love  you,  Dannie." 

"And  do  I  love  you,  Katie?  Do  I?  Do  I 
catch  my  breath  and  walk  the  deck  on  the  long 
black  winter  nights  because  I  can't  sleep — driving 
and  fighting,  days  and  nights?  Tired  out  I  ought 
to  be,  but  no  more  tired  than  the  roaring  sea  it- 
self. Thinking  of  you,  Katie,  thinking  of  you. 
But  I'm  off  now,  dear,  and  don't  forget —  No 
need  to  say  what,  is  there?  But  tell  it  again? 
And  sure  I  will,  dear.  Whisper  " — and  he  retold 
it  softly  in  her  ear.  And  she,  loving  to  love, 
loving  to  be  loved,  could  not  see  to  let  him  go  for 
another  while.  "And  will  I  come  home  again? 
Will  I?  Did  I  come  a  hundred  times  before? 
252 


On  Georges  Shoals 

Or  was  it  my  ghost?  Aye,  a  healthy  ghost.  But 
say  a  prayer  for  me  just  the  same.  Though 
what's  to  be  is  to  be.  God  bless  you,  Katie 
Morrison,  and  good-by." 

There  was  every  promise  of  a  wild  night,  and 
a  wicked  place  to  be  on  a  bad  night  is  Georges 
Bank  in  shoal  water.  To  the  westward,  barring 
escape  to  deep  water  and  good  sea  room  when  the 
northeaster  blows,  is  a  ridge  of  sand  with  no 
more  than  twelve  feet  of  water.  Over  that  the 
lightest  draught  vessel  of  the  Gloucester  fleet 
would  not  have  bumped  on  a  calm  June  day.  So 
shoal  was  it  and  so  heavy  the  seas  in  there  that 
vessels  have  been  known  to  pitch  head  first  into 
bottom  at  times;  their  bowsprits  have  been  found 
so  stuck  in  the  sand  by  fishermen  who  dared  to 
cut  close  in  on  summer  days.  A  vessel  striking 
there  was  much  worse  off  than  if  she  struck  in  on 
a  bare  beach  of  the  mainland,  because  while  in 
either  case  she  was  sure  to  be  battered  to  pieces, 
out  there  on  Georges  was  no  escape  for  the  crew. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  very  heavy  weather  a 
vessel  would  hardly  live  to  strike  the  clear  beach. 
She  would  be  smothered  long  before  that.  In  ten 
fathoms  of  water,  say,  with  a  big  sea  and  strong 
tide  running,  there  were  rip  waters  to  send  the 
foam  mast-high,  to  catch  the  vessel  up  and  spin 
253 


On  Georges  Shoals 

her  about  as  if  she  were  a  top  such  as  boys  whip 
around  in  spring-time.  Small  wonder  fishermen 
dread  shoal  water  on  Georges  in  a  breeze;  small 
wonder  that  the  smart  trawlers  hustle  dories  in 
and  bear  off  in  a  hurry  when  they  find  themselves 
in  less  than  twenty-five  fathoms  and  a  breeze  mak- 
ing; small  wonder  that  even  the  hand-liners  quite 
often  jeopardize  their  chances  for  a  good  trip  and 
up  anchor  and  away  when  it  looks  too  bad. 

But  there  is  not  always  time  to  get  away. 
Sometimes  the  storm  makes  too  suddenly.  One 
might  say  that  expert  fishermen,  above  all  others, 
should  be  quick  to  foresee  a  coming  storm.  They 
are  quick  enough,  Lord  knows — years  of  perilous 
observation  have  made  them  so.  But  there  are 
those  who  won't  leave,  come  how  it  will.  Every 
coming  storm  does  not  mean  that  the  one  terrible 
storm  of  years  is  at  hand;  and  when  it  is  so  diffi- 
cult to  get  back  to  just  the  right  spot  after  a 
storm  has  scattered  the  fleet,  why  let  go  for  what 
is  only  probability,  not  a  certainty,  of  disaster? — 
especially  when  one  is  on  a  good  spot.  It  is  only 
one  storm  in  a  dozen  years  when  good  seamanship, 
fishermen's  instinct,  sound  gear,  and  an  able  craft 
do  not  avail.  And  what  real  fishermen  would  not 
risk  the  one  storm  in  ten  years  ?  That  is  how  they 
put  it,  and  therein  have  some  of  them  come  to  be 
lost. 

254 


On  Georges  Shoals 

This  was  a  case  of  sudden  storm  and  everybody 
aware  that  it  was  to  be  a  wild  night;  but  such 
fishing  as  they  had  been  having  that  day  was  too 
tempting  to  leave.  Certainly  aboard  the  Pan- 
theon they  had  no  notion  of  leaving  it.  They  only 
knocked  off  for  the  night  when  the  tide  got  al- 
together too  strong  for  them.  With  sixty  fathoms 
of  line  in  twenty-five  fathoms  of  water  their  ten- 
pound  leads  struck  bottom  only  twice  before  they 
came  swirling  to  the  surface  again. 

John  Gould  was  the  last  to  haul  in  his  line. 
"  You  don't  often  see  the  tide  any  stronger  than 
this,"  he  observed  to  his  skipper. 

"  That's  a  fact,  John,  you  don't,"  answered 
Dannie,  together  with  John  half  turning  a  shoul- 
der and  ducking  his  head  to  the  drenching  sea 
that  was  coming  aboard.  "  And  some  of  the 
fleet's  takin'  notice,  too.  There's  old  Marks  and 
Artie  Deavitt  and  McKinnon  and  Matt  Leahy 
givin'  her  more  string.  That's  what  they  think 
of  it  already.  M-m — Lord,  smell  that  breeze !  " 
He  took  another  look  about.  "  Better  have  an- 
other look  for'ard,  John,  there,  and  see  she's 
not  chafin'  that  hawser  off.  All  right?  That's 
good." 

A  moment  more  and  he  shook  his  head,  and 
five  minutes  later  called  all  hands.  "  Might's  well 
give  her  a  little  more  string,  fellows.  Didn't  in- 
255 


On  Georges  Shoals 

tend  to  give  it  to  her  so  soon,  but  this  lad  up 
to  wind'ard,  I  see  he's  givin'  her  some  more,  and 
we'll  have  to  put  out  more  or  he'll  be  on  top  of 
us.  I  cal'late  he's  got  half  a  mile  of  hawser  out 
now.  A  man  that  figures  on  gettin'  worried  so 
soon  ought  to  keep  off  by  himself  somewhere." 

That  was  at  eight  o'clock,  with  the  tide  racing 
toward  the  shoals  before  a  fifty-mile  northeaster. 
There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  sea  by  then.  There 
never  is  when  tide  and  wind  run  together  and 
it  is  the  first  of  a  breeze.  But  when  that  tide 
turns! 

"  Yes,  sir,  when  this  tide  turns — if  anybody 
wants  to  see  somethin'  superfine  in  the  way  of 
tide-rips,  right  here'll  be  the  place,"  remarked  the 
Skipper,  and,  seeing  that  the  extra  length  of  haw- 
ser was  paid  out,  dropped  below  for  a  mug-up. 
"  There's  no  tellin'  when  we'll  get  a  chance  again 
for  a  cup  of  coffee,"  he  said.  "  'Twill  be  a  long 
night,  I'm  thinkin\  But  what'll  that  mess  be, 
cook,  when  it's  done  cookin'  ?  " 

"  Tapioca  puddin',  Skipper." 

"  That's  good."  He  helped  himself  to  a  mug 
of  coffee,  saying  no  further  word,  barely  giving 
ear  to  John  Gould,  a  miraculous  man,  who  had 
survived  thirty-five  winters  on  Georges,  and  was 
still  rugged  as  oak. 

"  When  our  old  cook  used  to  make  tapioca  pud- 
256 


On  Georges  Shoals 

din',  'twas  a  sure  sign  of  heavy  weather  comin', 
warn't  it,  Skipper?  " 

The  Skipper  barely  inclined  his  head,  and  John 
turned  to  his  less  preoccupied  mates.  "  That  last 
big  breeze — let's  see.  Yes,  ten  year  ago  this 
month.  I'll  never  forget  that  gale.  Nobody  will, 
I  cal'late,  that  was  out  that  night.  The  Skipper 
here  was  in  this  same  vessel — she  twenty  year  old 
then,  though  only  the  Skipper's  second  year  as 
skipper  in  her.  The  glass  was  down  that  after- 
noon, I  mind,  but  the  sea  smooth — that  is,  for  that 
time  o'  year.  But  by  ten  that  night !  Lord,  what 
a  night  that  was!  Wind!  and  sea!  Forty 
vessels  and  five  hundred  men  in  the  hand-linin' 
fleet  that  night,  and  every  third  man  and  ves- 
sel gone  by  the  mornin'.  God,  how  they  did 
smash  into  each  other!  And  their  spars — like 
fallin'  trees  when  they'd  come  together  in  the 
dark." 

John  passed  from  narrative  to  reflection. 
"  Some  widows  made  that  night,  warn't  there, 
Skipper?" 

"  Aye,  John — and  some  maids  widowed." 
The  Skipper  did  not  even  smile  at  his  own  pun. 

1  There  ought  to  be  a  law,  I  think,"  continued 

John,   "  to  keep  vessels  from  anchorin'  so  close 

to  each  other.     Take  it  that  night.     If  the  fleet 

warn't  bunched  up  so  close  there  wouldn't  'a'  been 

257 


On  Georges  Shoals 

half  so  many  lost.  Yes,  sir,  there  oughter  be  a 
law,  don't  you  think,  Skipper?  " 

"What?"  The  Skipper  came  out  of  his  ab- 
straction. "  What — oh !  a  law,  eh  ?  And  who'd 
come  out  here  to  see  it  lived  up  to?  Gover'ment 
vessels?  No,  John,  no  law  would  do.  Where 
there's  good  fishin'  there  men  and  vessels  will  go, 
and  devil  take  the  risk.  I  know  we  oughtn't  be 
huddled  in  here  like  we  are.  I  know  that  if  an- 
other such  breeze  as  that  one  ten  years  ago  hits 
in  here  to-night  there'll  be  just  as  many  of  us  lost 
as  there  was  that  night.  Yes,  sir,  just  as  many." 
He  stopped  by  the  companionway  to  button  his 
sou'wester  under  his  ear — "  Good  pie  that,  cook. 
I  hope  the  tapioca'll  taste  as  well  in  the  mornin'  " 
— drew  on  his  mitts,  and  went  on  deck. 

Down  the  companionway  soon  came  his  voice. 
"  Everybody  up,  and  give  her  a  little  more  string. 
There's  one  or  two  of  them  beginnin'  to  drift 
a'ready." 

They  heard  his  voice  roll  along  the  deck  then. 
"  Aft  there,  call  all  hands  to  give  her  more  haw- 
ser— and  the  chain  with  it !  " 

They  did  so,  noting  as  the  chain  rattled  out 
that  the  wind  had  increased  perceptibly.  "  When 
this  tide's  settin'  back  there'll  be  some  sea  kickin' 
up  here,"  they  heard  their  Skipper  say.  And  then 
his  voice  again — from  aloft  this  time :  "  Give  her 
258 


On  Georges  Shoals 

more  yet — another  fifty  fathom."  Down  he 
dropped  to  the  deck  with,  It's  goin'  to  be  hell 
around  here  to-night!  If  'twas  some  vessels  Fve 
been  in— or  if  'twas  the  Katie  Morrison  now, 
that's  not  finished — it'd  be  slip  cables  and  out  of 
here — and  in  a  hurry.  But  not  in  this  old  packet 
— 'twouldn't  do.  She'd  most  likely  split  in  two 
tryin'  to  beat  out,  and  cert'nly  she  wouldn't  get 
back  here  in  a  week  if  the  wind  hauled.  No,  sir. 
But  what's  this?  "     He  held  up  a  bare  palm. 

The  entire  crew  began  to  sniff  the  air  then,  and, 
holding  out  their  palms,  to  catch  and  taste  what- 
ever the  wind  had  brought. 

Snow !  A  howling  no'the-easter  in  shoal  water 
on  Georges,  the  vessel  dragging —    And  snow ! 

The  Skipper  made  no  comment.  Even  after  he 
had  made  certain  of  it,  he  said  nothing,  nor  made 
any  new  move — only  stood  by  the  fore-rigging 
and  tried  to  map  out  in  his  mind  the  location  of 
the  others  of  the  fleet. 

"  And  now  let's  see — we're  pretty  nigh  the  most 
westerly  of  the  bunch.  Jack  Kildare,  he's  about 
east  by  south.  If  he  does  drag  he'll  most  likely 
miss  us.  Simms — the  Parker — he's  about  east  by 
no'the  and  maybe  two  cable-lengths  away.  She 
won't  drag,  I'm  sure — rides  easy  as  a  gull.  Jim 
Potter,  he's  about  right  to  fetch  us — no'the-east 
— and  those  two  that  dropped  in  just  to  the 
259 


On  Georges  Shoals 

no'the-ard  of  him  at  dark  to-night — they  might, 
too.  Any  of  those  three'll  get  us  in  short  order 
if  they  get  to  draggin'."  Again  he  held  his  palm 
up.  "  Gettin'  wetter — and  thicker.  There'll  cer- 
t'nly  be  hell  to  pay  round  here  to-night,  and  the 
old  Pantheon — but,  Lord,  she's  been  through  too 
many  blows  to " 

The  vessel  leaped  under  him,  sagged  back  and 
started  to  rush  forward  again.  His  quick  ear 
caught  the  first  of  the  crunching.  "  Stand  clear  of 
her  for'ard !  "  he  warned,  and  himself  jumped  to 
the  protection  of  the  foremast,  as  through  her  bow 
planking  they  heard  her  chain  go  zipping. 

A  moment  of  almost  a  dead  stop,  a  breath  of 
portentous  quiet,  and  she  swung  broadside  to 
the  sea.  "  Wa-atch  out!"  roared  the  Skipper. 
Aboard  came  the  sea  in  tons.  "  Hang  on !  hang 
on !  "  called  one  to  another.  All  clung  grimly  to 
whatever  was  nearest.  It  passed  on,  submerging 
everybody,  but  leaving  the  vessel  still  right  side 
up. 

"  Everybody  all  right?  "  called  the  Skipper. 

Each  for  himself  answered — all  but  one. 

"Henry!"  called  the  Skipper.  "  Henry 
Norton!" 

No  answer.    And  again  no  answer. 

"  I  cal'late  he's  gone,  Skipper." 

"  He  must  be.    God  help  him !  " 
260 


On  Georges  Shoals 

"  And  his  folks,  Skipper — he's  the  third  of  his 
family  been  lost  out  here." 

"  And  there'll  be  more  before  the  night's  over," 
muttered  one  at  the  Skipper's  elbow. 

"  Maybe  there  will,"  snapped  the  Skipper, 
"  but  in  God's  name  wait  till  it  happens.  Below 
there —  Oh,  cook,  hand  up  a  torch,  and  let's 
see  what's  to  be  done." 

"  Chain  parted,  Skipper." 

"  Well,  it  don't  take  any  magician  to  see  that. 
But  let's  see  what  else." 

The  chain,  before  parting,  had  torn  through 
her  iron-bound  hawser  hole,  and  three  of  the  stout 
stanchions  had  gone  as  if  they  were  cardboard. 

"  Some  tide  that !  "  observed  old  John  Gould, 
and  his  voice  was  that  of  a  connoisseur  in  tides. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  the  Skipper.  "  But  go  aloft, 
one  of  you — you,  John — and  see  if  you  can  see 
anybody  comin'.  There'll  be  somebody  down  on 
us  soon.  And  the  rest  of  you  stand  by  to  put  sail 
on  her.  It'll  be  too  much  to  expect  that  single 
hawser  to  hold  her.  And  go  aft,  you  Dick,  and 
take  a  soundin'." 

Came  John's  voice  from  aloft.  "  Can't  see 
half  a  length  away." 

"  All  right,  come  down."  He  turned  toward 
the  stern.     "  What  water?  " 

"  Twenty  fathom." 

261 


On  Georges  Shoals 

"  Twenty?  Drifting  as  fast  as  that?  Put  sail 
on  her — the  big  trys'l  first.  Jib?  No,  not  yet. 
Give  this  one  too  much  headsail  and  she'll  be 
into  the  hummocks  before  you  could  half  put  the 
wheel  down  on  her." 

"Nineteen  fathom." 

"Nineteen?  All  right,  boy,  keep  soundin', 
and  loose  your  jib  now,   fellows." 

"  Eighteen  fathom,  Skipper." 

"Eighteen  fathom?  Man,  I  think  I  hear  it 
roar,"  observed  one. 

"  I  hear  it,  too.  Is  that  the  surf?  "  came  from 
another. 

"  '  Is  that  the  surf? '  Who's  that  damn  fool? 
Oh,  it's  the  new  man.  Well,  maybe  you're  part 
way  excusable.  Yes,  that's  the  surf  under  your 
lee.  If  'twas  light  you  could  see  it  break.  But 
don't  mind  that,  boy — I've  heard  it  before  and 
come  away." 

"  Maybe  you  have,"  commented  one  unthink- 
ingly, "  but  there's  not  been  too  many  that's  been 
near  enough  to  hear  it  and  got  home  to  tell  about 
it — not  too  many." 

"  For  God's  sake,  choke  that  croaker,  some- 
body! And  drive  her,  fellows — no  time  to  lose 
now."  The  Skipper  was  all  over  her  deck.  "  And 
stand  by  with  the  axe,  you  Fred,  so  when  we  have 
to,  and  I  give  the  word,  cut  and  we'll  run  for  it." 
262 


On  Georges  Shoals 

"  I  s'pose  she  couldn't  stand  the  mains'l,  Skip- 
per? " 

"  No,  John,  she  couldn't — not  this  old  hooker 
in  this  breeze.  Just  the  extra  weight  of  that  boom 
outward  now  and  over  she'd  flop,  sure  as  fate. 
She's  thirty  year  old,  this  one.  Lord,  if  'twas  only 
the  Katie,  wouldn't  we  go  skippin'  out  of  here! 
But  go  aloft  again,  John." 

In  the  whirl  and  thickness  of  snow  they  tried  to 
follow  John  as  he  climbed  the  rigging,  swinging 
and  clinging,  fighting  his  way  up. 

John's  voice,  but  too  muffled  to  be  understood, 
came  down  to  them.  One  man  jumped  into  the 
rigging  and  passed  the  word  along. 

11  He  says  a  ridin'  light  to  wind'ard — two  of 
em. 

"  To  anchor  are  they?    Make  sure." 

An  exchange  of  words  above.  "  John  says  he 
thinks  one  of  'em's  driftin' — only  her  ridin'  light 
shows,  but  the  other's  just  showed  a  side-light — 
her  port  light." 

"  Port  light?  That's  bad  for  us.  Look  sharp 
to  the  wheel.  And  for'ard,  who's  got  the  axe — 
you,  Fred  ?  Well,  get  up  the  other  axe  and  stand 
by  with  it  you,  Tim.  Slash  to  it,  both  of  you,  when 
I  give  the  word.    Can  you  hear  me?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

He  stepped  back  to  the  break  and  tried  to  catch 
263 


On  Georges  Shoals 

John's  voice  for  himself.  Not  getting  it  easily,  he 
jumped  into  the  rigging.  "  What's  that  last — of 
that  one  sailin' " 

"  Another  vessel  driftin'  down — and  another — 
two  draggin'  and  two  sailin',  but  not  makin'  much 
headway.     An  awful  wind  aloft,  Skipper." 

"  Aye,  John — and  below,  too.  But  what's  that  ? 
Hell !  "  He  dropped  to  deck  and  leaped  to  the  ' 
wheel.  He  was  just  in  time  to  dodge  the  side-sweep 
of  a  vessel's  bowsprit  as  she  swirled  by  his  quarter. 
Another  moment  and  it  caught  the  stern  davits,  the 
dory  slung  up  to  them,  and  then  the  end  of  the 
Pantheon7 s  main  boom.  Cr-s-sh! — cr-s-sh!  The 
bowsprit  of  the  stranger  cracked  sharp  off,  the 
Pantheon's  dory  went  to  kindlings,  and  her  boom 
smashed  at  the  slings.  "  Hi-i !  you  blasted  loon, 
where  you  goin'  ?  " 

"  Hi-i  1  "  came  back  a  yet  hoarser  voice — 
"  couldn't  help  it — parted  both  cables." 

"  That's  bad " 

"  Yes— good-by." 

Dannie  fanned  the  snow  from  his  eyes.  "  If 
that  ain't  hell — talkin'  to  men  you  can't  see  and 
they  driftin'  away  to  be  lost!  And  the  dory 
gone,  though  it's  more  than  a  dory  we'll  need 
to-night." 

"  Oh,  Skipper!  "  came  from  aloft  again. 

"  Aye,  John." 

264 


On  Georges  Shoals 

"  Near's  I  can  make  out,  there's  four  or  five  ves- 
sels bearin'  down " 

"Close  by  ?" 

"  Pretty  close — yes,  sir." 

"  Wait — I'll  be  with  you."  Aloft  climbed  the 
Skipper.  'Twas  a  fight  to  go  aloft,  such  was  the 
force  of  the  wind  and  so  wildly  swayed  the  rigging 
of  the  old  Pantheon. 

From  the  deck  the  crew  gazed  after  the  Skipper 
till  they  could  see  his  swaying  shoulders  no  more. 
Soon  he  came  flying  down,  and  after  him  came 
John,  both  by  way  of  the  snow-slushed,  slippery 
halyards. 

11  Cut !  "  roared  the  Skipper  before  he  had  fairly 
hit  the  deck — "  and  at  the  wheel  there,  let  her  pay 
off." 

"  Cut — cut!  "  Away  went  the  twelve-inch  rope 
in  stubborn  convolutions  through  the  hawse-holes. 
Around  came  the  Pantheon,  and  by  her  bow  came 
driving  a  great  white  shadow.  White  sail  against 
white  snow  on  a  black  night  she  came  driving  on, 
and  only  a  memory  of  a  dim  light  to  mark  her 
when  the  shadow  of  the  sails  could  not  be  made  out. 

"  No  side-lights — draggin'  ?  " 

"  Aye,  and  draggin'  fast  as  some  vessels  ever 
sail." 

Again  a  shadow,  and  from  out  of  the  night  inar- 
ticulate voices — voices  that  grew  in  volume,  rang 

26s 


On  Georges  Shoals 

loud,  louder  yet — not  so  loud,  muffled,  yet  more 
muffled,  quiet  again — voices  as  if  from  another 
world,  not  to  be  clearly  distinguished.  "  Did  any- 
body catch  what  they  said?  " 

"  Nobody?    Well,  that's  their  end." 

"  God  help  'em,  yes." 

11  Sixteen  fathom,  Skipper." 

"  Sixteen !  We  cert'nly  can't  be  weatherin'  it 
much." 

"  Lord,  I  should  say  not.  And  seas  to  swallow 
us  alive.  Looks  bad  for  us,  too,  don't  it,  Skip- 
per?" 

"  Looks  bad  for  who  ?  Dry  up !  There's  a 
whole  ocean  to  the  east'ard  of  us — how's  she 
pointin'  ?  " 

"  Su'the-east  by  east." 

"  Su'the-east  by  east?  That  the  best  the  old 
whelp  can  do  ?  That  means  she'll  point  no  better 
than  no'the  by  west  when  we  jibe  her.  Try  and 
hold  her  up." 

For  a  moment  the  snow  lifted  and  they  caught 
points  of  light — a  red  and  a  green  and  several 
white  lights.  "  Most  of  'em  still  to  anchor.  I 
hope  none  of  'em  get  in  our  way." 

The  snow  fell  again,  and  once  more  John  Gould 
went  aloft. 

"  One  on  the  starb'd  tack,  Skipper." 

"  Aye,  don't  mind  her — only  on  the  port  tack." 
266 


On  Georges  Shoals 

"  Aye.  Here's  one,  wherever  in  the  devil  she 
came — hardalee,  hardalee !  " 

"  Hardalee !  "  The  Skipper  jumped  to  the 
wheel  and  helped  to  hold  it  down.  "  Where's  she 
now?" 

11  Fve  lost  her.  Thick  o'  snow  again.  Here  she 
is — and  another  on  the  other  tack." 

"  God  in  heaven!  one  on  each  tack?  " 

He  got  no  further.  A  hail  came  from  some- 
where aloft,  and  yet  not  from  the  Pantheon's  mast- 
head— a  voice,  not  John's,  called  out  something  or 
other — a  dozen  voices  called — a  roar  of  voices 
mingled  with  the  shriek  of  the  wind,  and  then 
slipped  by  another  dread  shadow. 

u  Fifteen  fathom,  Skipper." 

"  Aye,"  breathed  the  Skipper.  He  made  out  the 
shadow,  not  altogether  with  his  eyes — the  deeper 
senses  do  the  work  on  such  nights — and  let  her  pay 
off.  "  But  we  can't  run  this  way  long — we'd  be 
smothered  in  the  shoal  water."  Again  he  tacked, 
again  in  a  shadow  of  sails.  u  She's  in  the  same  fix," 
he  muttered,  and  tacked  again.  No  shadow  pressed 
and  he  drew  breath,  but  hardly  a  whole  breath, 
when  again  voices,  from  aloft  as  well  as  from 
across  the  water.  All  about  him  he  looked  to  make 
out.  When  he  did  make  out  anything  there  were 
two  of  them — one  to  each  side.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  do,  then,  but  try  to  outrun  them  both.  He 
267 


On  Georges  Shoals 

eased  off  his  sheets  and  away  went  the  old  Pan- 
theon. 

"  Running  to  perdition  if  I  hold  this  long."  He 
could  hear  the  roar  quite  plainly  now,  and,  hearing 
it,  groaned.  "  But  I've  got  to  keep  clear.  God ! 
why  don't  they  hold  up?  " 

And  then  it  came — from  straight  ahead  and  so 
suddenly  that  no  human  power  could  avert,  no 
quickness  of  hand  or  eye  or  trick  of  seamanship  or 
weatherliness  of  vessel  could  avail.  Head  on  to 
the  old  Pantheon  it  was — a  phantom  of  white 
above  and  a  band  of  black  below  showed  through 
the  driving  snow.  One  awful  wait  that  was  worse 
than  the  actual  collision,  and  then  it  came.  The 
Pantheon  cut  into  the  other's  topside  planking,  her 
bowsprit  bore  through  the  other's  rigging  and  fore- 
sail— cr-s-sh! — cr-s-sh! — the  smash  of  breaking 
timbers,  the  tearing  of  stiff  canvas,  and  above  all 
the  howl  of  the  wild  gale. 

Men  hailed  out  questions,  oaths,  and  words  that 
no  man  could  understand.  They  held  so,  the  bow 
of  one  into  the  waist  of  the  other,  long  enough  for 
men  from  the  Pantheon  to  leap  aboard  the  other 
and  then  to  leap  back.  "  Man,  she's  worse  than  we 
are !  "  shouted  one,  as  back  he  came.  The  sea 
poured  in  by  way  of  the  great  gashes.  A  moment 
more  and  it  poured  unchecked  over  the  Pantheon's 
rails.  Then  the  spars  of  the  stranger  went  over  the 
268 


On  Georges  Shoals 

side  and  across  the  Pantheon's  deck.  Somebody 
moaned  that  he  was  hurt,  but  there  was  no  time  to 
find  out  who.  The  stranger's  dory  bobbing  up 
alongside,  one  man  made  a  wild  leap  for  it,  fell 
short,  and  that  ended  him,  though  that  mattered 
not  much — he  had  no  chance  either  way.  Others 
— wraith-like  voices — were  heard  calling  from  the 
sea  before  they  went  under  smothering.  One  man 
called  to  a  mate,  "  Take  hold,  boy,"  and  both  rode 
grimly  to  their  death,  cresting  high  the  great  seas, 
astraddle  the  Pantheon's  chain-box. 

Dannie  clung  to  the  wheel,  hoping  that  the  wind 
and  sea  would  carry  the  Pantheon  clear,  and  that, 
being  ready,  he  might  force  her  off.  But  not  so. 
They  did  come  apart,  but  apart  they  settled  even 
more  rapidly.  The  stranger  went  down  stern  first ; 
the  Pantheon  stern  hove  high,  pointed  her  bow 
after  the  stranger,  and  began  to  settle  that  way, 
bow  first. 

The  Skipper  was  alone  at  the  wheel  when  she 
made  her  plunge,  and  defiantly  clung  to  her  till  he 
was  carried  far  under.  He  rose  to  the  surface  and 
caught  his  breath.  And  that  breath  he  gave  to 
the  Pantheon  as  he  saw  her  mast-heads  plunging. 
"  You  were  a  good  vessel  to  me,"  he  murmured, 
even  as  the  sea  tossed  him  far  away.  He  reached 
for  something  in  the  swash  and  found  he  had  the 
wheel-box.  He  grasped  it,  but  it  was  all  smooth- 
269 


On  Georges  Shoals 

sided — no  place  for  his  hands  to  get  a  grip,  and 
the  terrible  tide  rips  tore  him  loose.  One  sea,  and 
another,  now  high  where  the  heavens  touched  the 
crests  almost,  and  again  in  the  depths  and  roarings 
he  was  cast  like  the  flying  spume  itself. 

Enveloped  in  foam  so  thick  that  even  when  his 
head  was  above  the  surface  he  could  not  breathe 
fairly,  he  still  tried  to  justify  that  last  catastrophe. 
"  And  yet  you  were  a  good  vessel  to  me." 

There  is  always  a  last  sea,  and  that  last  sea 
caught  him  fair  and  overbore  him.  He  knew  it 
when  it  came.  The  physical  agony  was  by  then 
and  the  soul  surmounting  all.  Not  till  then  did  he 
indulge  himself  so  far  as  to  let  his  heart  dwell  on 
the  memory  of  her  as  he  last  saw  her,  standing  in 
the  doorway  when  he  turned  the  corner.  For  the 
last  time  he  had  turned  that  corner.  Ah,  but  she 
was  beautiful — and  was  it  to  lose  her  he  came  to 
sea? 

The  roar  of  Georges  Shoals  was  in  his  soul.  He 
began  to  hear  the  voices  then,  voices  of  his  own 
men — he  knew  them — and  voices  he  had  never 
heard  before — voices,  no  doubt,  of  men  lost  in 
these  long  years  of  toil  in  waters  where  the  sands 
below  are  white  with  lost  men's  bones.  Her  voice 
he  heard,  too — heard  it  above  all.  "  Dannie,  Dan- 
nie," it  whispered,  plain  as  could  be.  By  that  he 
knew  that  she  needed  no  newspaper  to  tell  her — 
270 


On  Georges  Shoals 

even  at  that  moment  she  knew — knew,  and  was 
suffering.  And  all  her  life  she  would  have  to  suffer. 
And  so  it  was  "  God  help  you,  Katie  Morrison !  " 
that  parted  his  foam-drenched  lips  at  the  last. 

The  Katie  Morrison  was  launched  and  rigged, 
but  'twas  another  young  and  hopeful  skipper  that 
sailed  her  out  to  sea. 


271 


PATSIE  ODDIE'S  BLACK 
NIGHT 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"To  hell  with  them  that's  saved, "  said  he — 
"Here's  to  them  that  died." 


TWAS  Patsie  Oddie  said  that — that  is,  said 
it  first.  Many  people  have  repeated  it 
since,  but  with  Patsie  Oddie  it  was  born.  He  said 
a  whole  lot  more — enough  for  somebody  to  make 
a  song  of — but  the  two  lines  quoted  above  serve  to 
sum  the  matter  up. 

It  was  a  winter's  morning  he  said  it.  Cold? 
Oh,  but  it  was  cold.  Wind  from  the  north-west 
and  blowing  hard — a  sort  of  dry  blizzard.  Every 
vessel  coming  in  had  stories  to  tell  of  what  a  time 
they  had  to  get  home  and  how  long  it  took  them. 

"  It's  been  tack,  tack,  tack  from  St.  Peter's 
Bank,  till  we  fair  chafed  the  jaws  off  the  boom  of 
her,"  said  Crump  Taylor. 

"  Four  days  and  four  nights  from  Le  Have," 
said  Tom  O'Donnell.  "  Four  days  and  four 
nights  for  the  able  Colleen  Bawn  to  come  three 
hundred  miles.  Four  days  and  four  nights  to  butt 
her  shoulders  home — and  glad  to  get  home  at 
that." 

275 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

That  was  the  story  from  all  of  them  when  they 
came  in.  And  they  were  sights  coming  in,  too. 
Ice?  You  had  to  look  half-way  to  the  mast-head 
to  see  anything  but  ice.  Anchors,  bows,  dories  in 
the  waist,  cable  on  deck — all  was  solid  as  could  be 
— all  on  deck  from  rail  to  rail  and  clear  aft  to  the 
wheel — ice,  ice,  ice. 

The  crew  of  the  Delia  Corrigan  were  putting 
her  stores  aboard.  Her  skipper,  Patsie  Oddie,  was 
standing  on  the  dock  and  looking  her  over.  He 
hummed  a  song  as  he  looked.  This  was  just  after 
he  had  painted  her  black.  She  had  come  to  him 
black,  but  in  a  run  of  bad  luck  he  had  painted  her 
blue;  and  having  worked  off  the  bad  luck,  he  had 
painted  her  black  again.  Now  she  looked  beauti- 
ful— black  and  beautiful — and  able !  Let  no  man 
cast  eye  on  the  Delia  and  not  praise  her  ableness 
while  Patsie  Oddie  was  by. 

All  at  once  he  called  out  to  one  of  his  men' 
"  Martin,  let's  take  a  walk  up  the  street."  And 
Martin  went  gladly  enough. 

First  they  had  a  drink,  and  then  Patsie  stepped 
into  the  shop  of  what  all  fishermen  rated  the  best 
tailor  in  Gloucester.  "  Measure  me  for  a  suit  of 
sails,"  was  his  word  of  greeting  there.  "  Give  me 
a  Crump  Taylor  vest,  a  Wesley  Marrs  jacket,  and 
a  Tom  O'Donnell  pair  of  pants,  and  all  of  the  best. 
And  mind  the  mains'l." 

276 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"  The  overcoat,  Captain  ?  " 

"  The  overcoat ?  What  else?  Isn't  she  the  big- 
gest sail  of  all?  Mind  when  you  come  to  that — 
put  plenty  of  duck  to  it,  the  best  and  finest  of  duck. 
And  good  stout  duck,  double-ought,  like  what 
gen'rally  goes  into  a  fores'l.  And  the  best  and 
finest  of  selvin'  and  trimmin's  along  the  leach  and 
the  luff  and  in  the  belly  of  it.  And  let  it  hang  low 
— the  latest  fashion,  same's  you  made  Crump  Tay- 
lor. Crump  steps  ashore  a  while  ago  with  one 
down  to  the  rail.  He  tells  me  he  has  to  sway  it 
up  every  now  and  then  to  keep  it  off  the  deck. 
Five  weeks  to-day  I'll  want  it.  Mind  now,  the 
best." 

"And  which  way  do  you  go  now,  Captain?" 
said  the  tailor  when  he  had  taken  the  big  skipper's 
measure. 

44  To  the  east'ard,"  said  Patsie. 

44  But  not  to-day?"  said  the  tailor.  44  Too 
blowy,  ain't  it?" 

44  Maybe,"  said  Patsie,  44  you'd  like  to  go  skip- 
per o'  the  Delia  Corrigan?  S'pose  now  you  go  on 
with  that  suit,  and  let  me  go  to  the  east'ard.  And 
you  tell  me  what'll  be  and  I'll  pay  you  now.  How 
much?" 

44  Will  you  go  as  high  as  forty-five  dollars  for 
the  suit  and  sixty-five  for  the  coat,  a  hundred  and 
ten  dollars  in  all,  Captain?  " 
277 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

11  Yes,  and  a  hundred  and  forty-five  and  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty-five  and  three  hundred  and  ten  in 
all,  if  need  be.  The  best  of  cloth  I  want,  mind, 
and  double-ought  in  the  big  coat — no  less.  It's  to 
be  a  weddin',  maybe." 

"  Best  man?  "  said  the  tailor. 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Patsie,  "  whether  'twill  be  best 
man  or  second-best  man,  but  that's  the  way  of  it 
now.  Maybe  I'll  know  more  about  it  afore  we  put 
out.  But  if  I  don't  call  for  it  next  trip,  you  c'n 
wear  it  yourself.  Here's  your  money.  Come 
along,  Martin." 

Down  the  street  he  stopped  at  a  jeweller's  shop. 
"  A  diamond  ring  I  want,  and  I  don't  know  much 
about  them." 

He  looked  over  an  envelopeful  that  the  salesman 
emptied  on  to  the  glass  case.  "  But  I  don't  want 
any  red  or  yellow  or  fancy  colors — a  good  white 
one  I  want.  Now  here's  one.  A  hundred  dollars  ? 
Something  better  than  that.  This  one  now?  A 
hundred  and  fifty?  And  this  one?  A  hundred 
and  seventy-five,  is  it?  And  here's  a  two  hundred 
one,  you  say?  But  here's  a  better  one,  isn't  it? 
It's  a  bigger  one,  anyway.  Only  a  hundred  and 
eighty?  Like  men,  aren't  they — the  biggest  not 
always  the  best?  Like  men,  yes — and  like  women, 
too — the  showiest  not  always  the  best.  I'll  take 
this  one,  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollar  lad. 
278 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

Martin,  how  do  you  like  that?     Would  a  young 
woman  be  pleased  with  that,  d'y'  think?  " 

"  The  woman,  skipper,  that  wouldn't  be  pleased 
with  that  ought  to  be  hove  over  the  rail." 

"  Well,  I  hope  we  won't  have  to  heave  nobody 
over  the  rail.  But  pick  out  a  little  somethin'  for 
yourself,  Martin-boy.  There's  somethin'  there'd 
go  fine  in  your  necktie  when  you're  ashore.  Hush, 
hush,  boy — take  it,  and  don't  talk.  And  now  " — 
to  the  man  behind  the  case — "  how  much  all  told? 
This  little  pin  for  myself,  too." 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty,  and  twenty  for  your 
friend's  pin,  and  the  little  thing  for  yourself,  five 
dollars — I'll  throw  that  in  Captain — two  hundred 
and  seventy.  And  if  you  have  a  mind  to  change 
that  diamond  any  time,  we'll  be  willing  to  give  you 
something  else  for  it." 

Patsie  looked  down  at  the  floor  and  then  up  at 
the  salesman.  "  I  don't  think  I'll  want  to  change 
it.  I  mayn't  have  any  use  for  it,  but  whether  I  do 
or  not,  you  won't  see  it  back  here  any  more.  Let's 
be  movin',  Martin." 

He  led  the  way  out  and  away  from  Main  Street 
and  stopped  on  a  corner.  u  Martin,  do  you  wait 
under  the  lee  of  this  house  whilst  I  jogs  on  a  bit. 
'Tisn't  long  I'll  be  gone.  Swing  off  when  you  see 
me  headin'  back,  and  wait  for  me  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hill." 

279 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

Martin  waited,  but  not  for  long.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  taken  no  more  than  a  dozen  drags 
of  his  pipe  when  he  saw  his  skipper  coming  back. 
Down  the  hill  went  Martin,  and  after  him  came 
his  skipper. 

Not  a  word  said  Patsie  Oddie  until  they  were 
on  Main  Street  again.  Then  it  was  only,  "  The 
stores'll  be  aboard  by  now,  don't  you  think, 
Martin  ?" 

"  They  ought  to,  Skipper." 

"  Then  we'll  put  out."  He  threw  a  glance  at 
the  sky  and  then  a  look  to  the  flag  on  the  Custom 
House  as  they  turned  off  Main  Street  to  go  down 
to  the  dock.  At  the  head  of  the  dock  they  met 
Wesley  Marrs. 

"  Hulloh  Patsie,"  said  Wesley. 

"  Hulloh  Wesley,"  said  Patsie.  "  Go  on  to  the 
vessel,  you,  Martin,  and  tell  them  to  make  sail. 
I'll  follow  on."  Then,  when  Martin  had  gone  on 
ahead,  "  When'd  you  get  in,  Wesley?  " 

"  Just  shot  in." 

11  How's  it  outside?" 

"  Plenty  of  the  one  kind,"  said  Wesley.  "  Any- 
body that  likes  it  no'west  ought  to  be  pleased. 
Tack,  tack,  tack,  for  every  blessed  foot  of  the  way. 
All  but  put  in  to  Shelburne  once  to  give  the  crew  a 
rest.  Night  and  day,  tack,  tack,  tack — I  cal'late 
the  rudder  post's  worn  'most  out.  Yes,  sir.  And 
280 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

never  a  let-up  choppin'  ice — had  to,  to  keep  her 
from  sinkin'  under  us.  Fourteen  days  from  For- 
tune Bay  that  I've  run  in  fifty-odd  hours  in  the 
Lucy  with  the  wind  to  another  quarter.  Man,  but 
I  was  beginnin'  to  think  the  baby'd  be  grown  a 
man  afore  I'd  see  him  again.  Well,  I'm  off, 
Patsie." 

"Whereto?" 

"  Where  to  ?    Home,  of  course." 

"Oh,  home?" 

"  Of  course — the  baby  and  the  wife.  Patsie, 
but  you  ought  to  marry.  You'll  never  be  half  a 
man  till  you  marry." 

"Yes?    And  who'll  I  marry?" 

"  Oh,  some  nice,  fine  girl.  Man,  but  there's 
whole  schools  of  girls'd  jump  to  marry  you — 
whole  schools,  man.  Heave  your  seine  and  you'd 
get  a  deck-load  of  'em — or  a  dory-load,  anyway." 

"  No,  nor  a  dory-load,  nor  a  single  one  caught 
by  the  gills  in  mistake — me  that  has  no  more  learn- 
in'  than  a  husky  out  o'  Greenland.  Not  me,  Wes- 
ley, that  can't  read  my  own  name  unless  it's  wrote 
in  plain  print,  and  that  c'n  only  find  my  way  about 
by  dead  reckonin'.  I  c'n  haul  the  log,  and,  knowin' 
her  course  and  allowin'  for  tides  and  one  thing  or 
another  that's  set  down  and  the  other  things  that 
aren't  set  down,  but  which  a  man  knows  nat'- 

rally " 

281 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

u  Yes,  Patsie,  and  knows  it  better  than  nineteen 
out  o'  twenty  that  has  sextants  and  quadrants,  and 
can  run  them — what  do  they  call  'em — sumner 
lines?  " 

"  Well,  maybe  as  well  as  some,  Wesley.  But, 
Wesley,  girls  aren't  lookin'  for  the  likes  o'  me. 
Patsie  Oddie'll  do  to  handle  a  vessel,  maybe,  and 
he'll  take  her  where  any  other  man  that  sails  the 
sea'll  take  her,  and  he'll  bring  her  home  again. 
And  he's  good  enough  to  get  the  fish  and  bring 
them  to  market,  to  hang  out  in  a  blow,  to  carry 
sail  till  all's  blue,  and  the  like  o'  that.  But  his 
style  don't  go  these  days,  Wesley.  No,  there 
may  be  schools  o'  girls  swimmin'  around  some- 
wheres,  but  they're  divin'  the  twine  when  Patsie 
Oddie  makes  a  set.  Anyway,  it  wouldn't  make  any 
difference  to  me  if  whole  rafts  of  'em  was  to  come 
swimmin'  alongside  and  poke  their  heads  up  and 
say,  *  Come  and  take  me.'  I'm  one  o'  them  queer 
kind,  Wesley,  that  only  goes  after  one  girl.  And 
I  set  for  her — and  didn't  get  her." 

Wesley  said  nothing  to  that  for  a  while.  Then 
it  was :  "  Well,  Patsie,  never  mind.  I  didn't 
think  when  I  spoke  first.  I'll  say,  though,  that  I 
don't  think  much  of  the  girl  that  wouldn't  stand 
watch  with  you  if  you  asked  her.  If  she  wanted  a 
man,  Patsie,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  she'd  get 
a  better  one — that's  if  it's  a  man  she  wanted.  If 
282 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

she  don't  want  a  man,  but  only  a  smooth  kind  of 
arrangement  that  plays  a  banjo  or  c'n  stand  up  to 
a  pianner  and  sing,  *  I  loves  yer,  I  loves  yer,'  or 
some  other  damn  mess — and  the  same  to  every  girl 
that  looks  his  way — one  of  the  kind  that's  hell 
ashore,  but  can't  take  in  sail  in  a  gale  without  wash- 
in'  a  couple  of  men  over  the  lee-rail,  one  of  the 
kind  that  gives  this  way  and  that  to  every  tide 
that  ebbs  and  flows,  like  a  red-painted  whistlin' 
buoy — why,  then,  maybe  somebody  else'd  look 
prettier  swashin'  around  for  the  people  to  look 
at  and  make  use  of.  Maybe,"  went  on  Wes- 
ley, "  she'd  take  a  notion  to  some  bucko  like 
Artie  Orcutt  that  just  lost  the  Neptune.  Heard 
of  it?" 

"  'Twas  in  the  papers  this  mornin',  so  they  tell 
me.  I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  to  read  papers,  you 
know." 

11  Well,  he  lost  his  vessel  and  ten  of  his  men, 
and  ought  to  lose  his  papers.  With  half  a  man's 
courage  and  a  quarter  of  the  seamanship  any  mas- 
ter of  a  vessel  oughter  have,  he'd've  saved  his 
vessel  and  all  his  men.  He  c'n  thank  the  Lucy 
Foster's  ableness  and  the  courage  of  some  of  her 
crew  that  a  soul  of  them  got  home  at  all.  They 
came  home  with  us — all  but  Orcutt — from  For- 
tune Bay.  He  was  goin'  to  get  a  passage  over  to 
St.  Pierre  and  wait  a  while  there." 
283 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"  My!  "  said  Patsie,  "  that'll  be  a  bad  bit  o' 
news  to  Delia." 

"What!" 

"  Yes,  Orcutt  is  the  man.  I  think  'tis  him, 
anyways.  I  know  he  used  to  hang  around  there 
when  I  was  to  sea — and  a  word  dropped  this 
mornin' —  It  must  be  somebody;  and  who  but 
him?" 

Wesley  looked  at  Patsie.  "  Well,  if  it  is  him, 
may  the  Lord  forgive  me  for  pickin'  him  off.  I 
wish  I'd  knowed  it,  though  maybe,  after  all,  I 
couldn't  'a'  managed  it  to  leave  him  and  take  the 
others.  Oh,  well,  it's  all  in  the  year's  fishin'. 
He's  lucky.  Maybe  he'll  live  to  teach  this  girl  of 
his  what  a  man  oughtn't  be,  though  I  don't  sup- 
pose you'll  care  so  much  about  it  by  the  time  she's 
learned  the  lesson.  Man,  but  I  can't  believe  Delia 
Corrigan'd  throw  you  for  Artie  Orcutt.  No, 
Patsie,  I  can't.  But  here's  the  Anchorage  fair  on 
our  beam.  What  d'y'  say  to  a  little  touch,  hah? 
A  pretty  cold  morning,  Patsie." 

"  I  don't  mind,  Wesley." 

"What'll  it  be  to,  Patsie?"  Wesley  raised 
his  glass  and  waited  for  Patsie.  They  were  lean- 
ing against  the  rail  by  that  time. 

"  What  to?  Oh,  to  the  Neptune's  gang — the 
whole  ten  of  'em." 

"  Sure  enough — the  whole  ten.  Here's  a  shoot 
284 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

— but  hold  up.  Which  ten,  Patsie — the  ten  lost 
or  the  ten  saved  ?  " 

"  The  ten  saved?  To  hell  with  the  ten  saved!  " 
said  Patsie — "  the  Lord's  looked  out  for  them 
that's  saved."  Patsie  raised  his  glass:  "Here's 
to  them  that  died." 

"Them  that  died?  H'm — and  yet  I  don't 
know  but  what  you're  right.  They've  got  their 
share,  come  to  think — you've  got  it  right,  Patsie. 
Here's  to  them  that  was  lost."  And  Wesley 
gulped  his  liquor  down. 

"And  which  wav,  Patsie?"  Wesley  inquired 
after  the  return  drink. 

"  To  the  east'ard,"  said  Patsie. 

11  To  the  east'ard,  is  it?  Well,  I  don't  need  to 
say  fair  wind  to  you,  for  you've  got  it.  This  wind 
holds,  and  you'll  be  heavin'  trawls  in  that  fav'rite 
spot  of  yours  on  Sable  Island  no'th-east  bar  in 
forty  hours  or  so.  I  cal'late  you'll  keep  on  fishing 
there  till  some  fine  day  you  get  caught.  Well, 
good  luck  and  drive  her,  Patsie,  till  you're  back 
again."  And  Wesley  swung  off  for  his  wife  and 
baby. 

"  Drive  her,"  Wesley  had  said,  and  certainly 
Patsie  Oddie  drove  her  that  trip  to  the  east'ard. 
Before  a  whistling  gale  and  under  four  whole 
lower  sails  the  Delia  went  away  from  Eastern 
Point  and  across  the  Bay  of  Fundy  like  a  ghost  in 
285 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

torment.  Two  or  three  new  men,  not  yet  in  full 
sympathy  with  their  skipper,  began  to  inquire  what 
it  all  meant.  They  could  see  the  sense  of  driving 
a  vessel  like  that  on  a  passage  home,  but  going  out  1 
On  that  passage  to  the  east'ard  only  the  watch 
stayed  on  deck  where  a  man  had  his  choice — the 
watch  and  the  Skipper — the  Skipper  walking  the 
quarter  and  dodging  the  seas  that  came  after  her 
between  little  lines  of  some  song  he  was  humming 
to  himself.  Every  man  on  coming  below  after  a 
watch  spoke  of  the  Skipper  and  his  singing,  but 
only  a  word  did  they  catch  now  and  then  to  re- 
member afterward. 

"Out  in  the  snow  and  the  gale  they  rowed, 
And  no  man  saw  them  more," 

was  what  one  caught. 

"  And  a  fine  thing  that,  to  be  singing  on  a  cold 
winter's  night  with  a  howling  gale  behind  and  the 
seas  breaking  over  her  quarter.  Yes,  a  fine  thing, 
that,"  said  the  crew,  in  the  security  of  the  cabin 

below. 

"And  no  man  saw  them  more " 

Some  men  lost  in  dories  the  skipper  must  have  been 
talking  about,  and  after  that: 

"  And  should  it  be  the  Lord's  decree 
Some  day  to  lay  me  in  the  sea, 
286 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

There'll  be  no  woman  to  mourn  for  me — 
For  that,  O  Lord,  here's  thanks  to  Thee  ! " 


under  his  breath  generally,  but  his  voice  rising  now 
and  then  with  the  wind. 

Martin  Carr,  who  happened  to  be  at  the  wheel 
just  then,  made  out  that  snatch  of  his  skipper's 
song  as  he  walked  the  tumbling  quarter.  And  he 
kept  walking  the  quarter,  walking  the  quarter — 
and  a  cold  night  it  was  for  a  man  to  be  walking  the 
quarter — a  word  to  the  watch  once  in  a  while,  but 
saying  nothing  mostly,  except  to  croon  the  savage 
songs  to  himself. 

Surely  nothing  peaceful  was  coming  out  of  that 
kind  of  a  song,  thought  watch  after  watch,  bracing 
themselves  at  the  wheel  to  meet  each  new  blast  of 
the  no'-west  wind. 

In  the  morning  he  was  still  there  walking  the 
quarter — less  mournful,  perhaps,  but  in  a  savage 
humor.  Men  who  had  sailed  with  him  for  years 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it.  There  was  the 
incident  of  the  big  bark,  a  good  part  of  whose  sail 
had  evidently  been  blown  away  and  the  most  of 
what  was  left  tied  up.  Under  the  smallest  possi- 
ble canvas  she  was  heading  close  up  to  the  wind 
and  making  small  way  of  it. 

11  Why  the  divil  don't  they  heave  her  to  entire- 
ly !  "  snapped  Patsie.  "  Look  at  her,  will  ye,  the 
287 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

size  of  her  and  the  sail  she's  carryin',  and  then  the 
size  of  this  little  one  and  the  sail  she's  carryin'. " 

The  men  chopping  ice  on  the  bark's  deck  stood 
transfixed  as  they  saw  the  little  Delia  sweep  by. 
Under  her  four  lowers,  and  going  like  the  blizzard 
itself  was  she,  with  a  big  bearded  man,  wrapped 
to  his  eyes  in  a  great-coat,  waving  his  arms  and 
swearing  across  the  white-topped  seas  at  them. 

"  And  did  you  never  see  a  vessel  afore  ?  "  barked 
Patsie.  "  Well,  look  your  fill,  then,  and  get  our 
name  while  you're  about  it,  and  report  us,  will 
you? — the  Delia  Corrigan,  Gloucester,  and  doin' 
her  fifteen  knots  good,  will  you?  " 

And  then,  turning  away  to  his  own :  "  The 
likes  o'  some  of  'em  oughtn't  be  allowed  a  cable- 
length  off  shore.  Their  mothers  ought  to  be  spoke 
to  about  it.  There's  a  fellow  there  ought  to  be 
going  along  about  his  business — and  look  at  him, 
hove  to !  Waitin'  for  it  to  moderate !  Lord,  think 
of  it — as  fine  a  day  as  this  and  waitin'  for  it  to 
moderate!  The  sun  shinin',  and  as  nice  a  green 
sea  as  ever  a  man'd  want  to  look  at !  It's  the  like 
o'  them  that  loses  vessels  and  men — makes  widows 
and  orphans." 

So  much  for  his  crew.    Then  a  dark  look  ahead 

and  beyond  the  green  and  white  seas  that  were 

sweeping  by  the  Delia's  bow,  while  the  bearded 

lips  moved  wrath  fully.    "  Ten  men  lost,  blast  him ! 

288 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

And  drinkin'  wine,  maybe,  in  Saint  Peer  now,  if 
we  c'd  only  see  him !  Yes,  and  he'll  come  back  to 
Gloucester  with  a  divil  of  a  fine  story  to  tell.  'Tis 
a  hero  he'll  make  himself  out  to  be.  Looked  in 
the  face  o'  death  and  escaped,  he'll  say — blast 
him!" 


Sable  Island — sometimes,  and  not  too  extrava- 
gantly, termed  the  Graveyard  of  the  Atlantic — is 
set  among  shoal  waters  that  afford  the  best  of 
feeding-ground  for  the  particular  kinds  of  fish  that 
Gloucestermen  most  desire — halibut,  cod,  haddock, 
and  what  not — and  so  to  its  shoal  waters  do  the 
fishermen  come  to  trawl  or  hand-line. 

Lying  about  east  and  west,  a  flat  quarter  moon 
in  shape,  is  Sable  Island.  Two  long  bars,  extend- 
ing north-westerly  and  north-easterly,  make  of  it 
a  full  deep  crescent.  Nowhere  is  the  fishing  so 
good  (or  so  dangerous)  as  close  in  on  these  bars, 
and  the  closer  in  and  the  shoaler  the  water,  the  bet- 
ter the  fishing.  There  are  a  few  men  alive  in 
Gloucester  who  have  been  in  close  enough  to  see 
the  surf  break  on  the  bare  bar;  but  that  was  in  soft 
weather  and  the  bar  to  windward,  and  they  invaria- 
bly got  out  in  a  hurry. 

Two  hundred  and  odd  wrecks  of  one  kind  or 
another,  steam  and  sail,  have  settled  in  the  sands 
of  Sable  Island.  Of  this  there  is  clear  and  in- 
289 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

disputable  record.  How  many  good  vessels  have 
been  driven  ashore  on  the  long  bars  on  dark  and 
stormy  nights  or  in  the  whirls  of  snowstorms  and 
swallowed  up  in  the  fine  sand  before  ever  mortal 
eye  could  make  note  of  their  disappearing  hulls, 
there  is  no  telling. 

Gloucester  fishermen  need  no  tabulated  state- 
ment to  remind  them  that  the  bones  of  hundreds 
of  their  kind  are  bleaching  on  the  sands  of  Sable 
Island,  and  yet  of  all  the  men  who  sail  the  sea  they 
are  the  only  class  that  do  not  give  it  wide  berth  in 
winter.  And  of  all  the  skippers  who  resorted  to 
the  north-east  bar  in  winter,  Patsie  Oddie  was  pre- 
eminent. Some  there  were  who  said  he  was  reck- 
less, but  those  that  knew  him  best  answered  that 
it  would  be  recklessness  indeed  if  he  did  not  know 
the  place;  if  he  did  not  know  every  knoll  and  gully 
of  it  that  man  could  know,  including  gullies  and 
knolls  that  were  not  down  on  charts — and  never 
would  be,  because  the  men  that  made  the  charts 
would  never  go  in  where  Patsie  Oddie  had  gone 
and  sounded  when  the  weather  allowed. 

It  was  on  the  Sable  Island  grounds — the  north- 
east bar — that  the  Delia,  after  a  slashing  passage, 
let  go  her  anchor  on  the  morning  of  the  second 
day.  Twenty  fathoms  of  water  it  was,  shoal 
enough  water  any  time,  but  good  and  shoal  for 
that  time  of  the  year,  when  gales  that  made  lee 
290 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

shore  of  the  bar  were  frequent.  The  Delia's  crew 
were  not  worrying,  though;  they  gloried  in  their 
skipper. 

Lying  there  close  in,  with  the  wind  north- 
west, the  Delia  was  in  the  lee  of  the  north-east 
bar,  and  that  first  day,  too,  was  not  at  all  rough. 
And  the  fish  were  thick  there,  and  as  fine  and  fat  as 
man  would  want  to  see.  Fifteen  thousand  of  hali- 
but and  ten  thousand  of  good  cod — certainly  that 
was  a  great  day's  work.  Was  it  not  worth  fishing 
close  in  to  get  a  haul  like  that?  Turning  in  that 
night  they  were  all  thinking  what  a  fine  day  they 
had  made  of  it,  and  wondering  if  the  fellow  they 
had  seen  to  the  eastward — in  deeper  and  safer 
water — had  done  so  well.  But  they  all  felt  sure 
he  had  not.  "  In  the  morning,"  said  Martin 
Carr,  "  he'll  get  up  his  courage  and  come  in 
and  give  us  a  look-over,  and  finding  we  did  so 
well,  maybe  he'll  anchor  close  in  and  make  a 
set,  too." 

Nobody  saw  him  in  the  morning,  however,  for 
it  came  on  thick  of  snow  and  the  wind  to  the  east- 
ward. Wind  in  that  quarter  would  be  bad,  of 
course,  if  it  breezed  up;  but  it  had  not  yet  breezed 
up,  and  the  Delia's  crew  were  not  minding  any 
mere  possibility.  It  was  not  too  bad  to  put  the 
dories  over,  and  between  squalls  they  hauled  again, 
heaving  up  the  anchor,  however,  before  leaving  the 
291 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

vessel,  so  that  their  skipper  could  stand  down  and 
pick  them  up  flying. 

"  We'll  clear  out,  I'm  thinkin',  for  to-night," 
said  Patsie  when  they  were  all  hauled.  And  clear 
out  they  did,  which  was  well,  too,  for  that  night  the 
wind  increased  to  a  bad  gale,  and,  safe  and  snug 
below,  alongside  the  hot  stove  or  under  the  bright 
lamp,  it  did  them  all  good  to  think  that  the 
north-east  bar  was  not  under  their  lee. 

Even  when  they  were  jogging  that  night  it 
looked  bad;  but  they  knew  they  might  do  it  and 
live.  They  had  to  keep  an  eye  out,  of  course, 
and  stand  ready  to  stand  off  in  a  hurry,  for 
should  it  come  too  bad  it  would  mean  lively  work 
to  get  out. 

Safe  away  to  the  eastward  of  them,  watch  after 
watch  of  the  Delia  stamping  about  deck  could 
make  out  the  riding  light  of  the  other  vessel  to 
anchor. 

11  In  the  mornin\  whoever  he  is,  he'll  be  gettin' 
his  courage  up,  and  maybe  he'll  drop  down,"  said 
the  Delia's  crew. 

They  were  in  great  good-humor.  And  well  they 
might  be,  with  twenty-five  thousand  of  halibut  and 
fifteen  thousand  of  fine  cod  after  two  days'  fishing. 
Yes,  well  they  might  be — halibut  sixteen  and  eigh- 
teen cents  a  pound  when  they  left  Gloucester. 

It  was  worth  taking  chances  to  get  fish  like  that ; 
292 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

and  with  a  skipper  who  knew  the  bar  as  most  men 
know  their  own  kitchens,  who  could  foretell  the 
weather  better  than  all  the  glasses  in  the  country, 
who  could  keep  run  of  a  vessel  and  tell  you  where 
you  were  any  time  of  the  day  or  night  out  of  his 
head — no  need  for  him  to  be  everlastingly  digging 
out  charts  and  taking  sights — they  were  safe.  Yes, 
sir,  they  were  safe  with  this  man.  Fishing  in 
twenty  fathoms  of  water  in  that  kind  of  weather 
looked  bad — very  bad — and  they  would  not  care  to 
try  it  with  everybody  in  heavy  weather,  but  with  a 
short  scope  and  with  Patsie  Oddie  on  the  quarter — 
why,  that  was  a  different  matter  altogether. 

In  the  morning  it  was  so  thick  that  they  could 
not  see  a  length  ahead;  so  the  skipper,  to  be  safe, 
kept  the  lead  going.  That  afternoon  it  cleared, 
and  they  saw  to  anchor,  but  now  inside  of  them, 
their  neighbor  of  the  day  before. 

Patsie  Oddie  looked  her  over.  "  What  do  you 
call  her?  "  he  asked  finally  of  Martin  Carr. 

"  The  Eldorado  or  the  Alhambra — I  wouldn't 
want  to  say  which,  they  bein'  alike  as  two  herrin'." 

"  That's  right — they  do  look  alike,  Martin.  But 
she's  the  Eldorado — Fred  Watson.  But  what's 
got  into  him  this  trip  ?  Generally  he  fishes  farther 
off.  But  'tis  Watson's  vessel,  anyway,  and  the 
blessed  fool's  got  his  dories  out.  He  must  be 
drunk — if  he  isn't  foolish.  But  he  don't  drink — 
293 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

not  generally.  What  ails  him  at  all?  She'll  be 
draggin'  soon,  if  she  isn't  already.  He  don't  seem 
to  know  too  much  about  that  swell  in  there  with  an 
easterly  wind — I  misdoubt  he  ever  fished  in  so 
close  before — and  if  he  don't  let  go  his  other  an- 
chor he'll  soon  be  where  a  hundred  anchors  won't 
do  him  any  good.  And  look  at  where  some  of  his 
dories  are  now !  " 

Getting  nervous  under  the  strain,  Oddie  stood 
down  and  hailed  the  two  men  in  the  dory  farthest 
from  the  Eldorado.  They  said  they  did  not  know 
quite  what  to  do — no  signal  to  haul  had  yet  been 
hoisted  on  the  vessel.  They  guessed,  though,  they 
would  hang  on  a  while  longer. 

Patsie  understood  their  feelings.  No  fisherman 
wants  to  be  the  first  to  cut  and  go  for  the  vessel, 
and  so  lose  fish  and  gear  also.  Losses  of  that  kind 
have  to  be  shared  by  the  men  equally.  Not  only 
that,  but  to  have  somebody  look  across  the  table 
at  supper  and  say,  "  And  so  there  were  some  that 
cut  their  gear  and  ran  for  it  to-day,  I  hear?  "  No, 
men  face  a  good  bit  of  danger  before  that. 

In  the  next  of  the  Eldorado's  dories  they  were 
pretty  nervous,  but  said  that  as  long  as  the  others 
were  not  cutting  they  were  not  going  to. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Patsie,  "  that's  the  way  to 
feel  about  it.  But  take  my  advice  and  you'll  buoy 
your  trawls  and  come  aboard  of  me.  It's  goin' 
294 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black   Night 

to  be  the  divil  to  pay  on  this  bar  to-night — and  in 
these  short  days  'twill  soon  be  night." 

And  they,  knowing  Patsie  Oddie's  reputation, 
buoyed  their  trawls  and  came  aboard  the  Delia 
Corrigan.  And  after  that  Patsie  picked  up  three 
more  dories  out  of  the  blinding  snow  and  took 
them  aboard  the  Delia.  By  the  time  Patsie  had 
those  four  dories  of  the  Eldorado  safe,  it  was  too 
rough  to  attempt  to  put  the  men  aboard  their  own 
vessel.  "  But  I'll  stand  down  and  hail  her  fer  ye," 
said  Patsie. 

Now  all  this  time  it  never  occurred  to  Patsie 
Oddie  that  anybody  but  Fred  Watson  was  master 
of  the  Eldorado.  In  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  pick- 
ing up  the  stray  dories,  there  had  been  no  time  to 
talk  of  anything  but  the  work  in  hand;  and  so  his 
immense  surprise  when  he  made  out  Artie  Orcutt 
standing  by  the  quarter  rail  of  the  Eldorado,  and 
so  his  anger  when  Orcutt  called  out  before  he  him- 
self had  a  chance  to  hail:  "  If  you're  getting  so 
all-fired  jealous  of  me,  Patsie  Oddie,  that  you  can't 
even  see  me  get  a  good  haul  of  fish  without  you 
trying  to  steal  it  from  me " 

The  rest  of  it  was  lost  in  the  wind,  but  there 
was  enough  in  that  much  to  make  Patsie  Oddie 
almost  leap  into  the  air.  "  So  it's  you,  is  it?  Lord, 
and  I'd  known  that,  you  c'n  be  sure  I'd  never  tried 
to  help  you  out."  That  was  under  his  breath,  with 
295 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black   Night 

only  a  few  near  by  to  hear  him.  He  wanted  to  say 
a  whole  lot  more,  and  say  it  good  and  hard,  evi- 
dently, but  he  did  not.  All  he  did  say  to  Orcutt  be- 
fore bearing  away  was,  "  You  take  my  advice, 
Artie  Orcutt,  and  you'll  let  go  your  second  anchor." 
Just  that,  and  sheered  off  and  left  him. 

"  And  how  comes  it  Artie  Orcutt's  got  the 
Eldorado?  "  he  then  asked  of  one  of  the  men  he 
had  picked  up. 

"  He  came  aboard  at  Saint  Peer,  where  we  put 
in  with  Captain  Watson  sick  of  the  fever.  He 
came  aboard  there  and  took  charge.,, 

11  H'm  I  "  Oddie  stroked  his  beard  and  smiled 
— smiled  grimly.  "  I  don't  see  but  what  he 
brought  it  on  himself."  But  that  last  as  though 
he  were  talking  to  himself. 

He  looked  over  toward  the  Eldorado  again. 
"  I  can't  see  that  we  can  help  him,  anyway,"  he 
said  again,  and  the  grim  smile  deepened.  "  We 
might  just  as  well  go  below — there's  the  cook's 
call.  Have  your  supper,  boys,  and  we'll  sway 
up,  sheet  in  and  stand  out.  Whatever  Orcutt 
does,  I  know  I'll  not  hang  around  here  this 
night." 

With  the  words  of  their  skipper  to  point  the 

way,  most  of  the  Delta's  crew  agreed  that,  after 

all,  it  was  not  their  funeral.    Lord  knows,  a  crew 

had  enough  to  do  to  look  out  for  their  own  vessel 

296 


Patsie  Odette's  Black  Night 

in  that  spot  in  bad  weather.  And  as  for  Artie 
Orcutt — Lord,  they  all  knew  him  and  what  he'd 
do  if  'twas  the  other  way  about — if  'twas  the  Delia 
was  in  trouble. 

But  it  was  not  Orcutt  alone.  There  were  nine 
others.  That  phase  of  it  the  crew  argued  out 
below,  and  that  was  what  they  agreed  their  skipper 
must  be  wrestling  with  up  on  deck. 

The  lights  gleamed  out  of  forecYle  and  cabin 
as  hatches  were  slid  and  closed  again,  with  watch 
after  watch  coming  and  going,  but  Oddie  stayed 
there  on  deck.  It  was  a  bad  deck  to  walk,  too,  the 
vessel  pitching  heavily  and  the  big  seas  every  once 
in  a  while  breaking  over  her.  But  the  Skipper 
seemed  to  pay  no  attention,  only  stamped,  stamped, 
stamped  the  quarter. 

The  men  passed  the  word  in  the  morning. 
"  Walkin',  walkin',  walkin',  always  walkin',  speak- 
in'  aloud  to  himself  once  in  a  while.  Man,  but  if 
he's  savin'  it  up  for  anybody,  I  wouldn't  want  to 
be  that  partie'lar  party  when  he's  made  up  his  mind 
to  unload." 

And  what  was  it  his  soul  was  wrestling  with? 
What  would  any  man's  soul  be  wrestling  with  if 
he  saw  whereby  a  rival  might  be  disposed  of  for 
good  and  for  all?  Especially  when  that  rival  was 
the  kind  of  a  man  that  the  woman  in  the  case 
^ould  not  but  realize  after  a  great  while  was  not 
297 


Patsie  Oddie's   Black  Night 

the  right  kind — that  no  woman  could  continue  to 
respect,  let  alone  love. 

And  then  ?  He  had  only  to  let  him  alone  now 
— say  no  word,  and  there  it  was — destruction  as 
certain  as  the  wind  and  sea  that  were  making,  as 
certain  as  the  sun  that  was  rising  somewhere  to  the 
east'ard. 

All  that,  and  the  primal  passions  of  Patsie 
Oddie  for  the  untamed  soul  of  Patsie  Oddie  to 
contend  with.  No  wonder  he  looked  like  another 
man  in  the  morning — that  in  the  agony  of  it  all 
he  groaned — and  he  a  strong  man — groaned,  yes, 
and  pressed  his  hands  to  his  eyes  as  one  who  would 
shut  out  the  sight  of  horrid  images.  Only  to  think 
of  Patsie  Oddie  groaning !  Yet  groan  he  did,  and 
questioned  his  soul — talking  to  something  inside  of 
him  as  if  it  were  another  man.  "  But  it  won't 
leave  me  a  better  man  before  God — and  God 
knows,  too,  it  won't  make  Delia  happier.  God 
knows  it  won't — it  won't " 

It  was  light  enough  then  for  Patsie  Oddie  to 
see  that  the  Eldorado  was  drifting,  drifting,  not 
rapidly  as  yet,  but  certainly  and  to  sure  destruction, 
with  the  ten  souls  aboard  of  her  doomed  as  so  many 
thousands  of  others  had  been  doomed  before  them. 
And  the  wind  was  ever  making,  and  the  sea  ever 
rising.  She  had  both  anchors  out  then,  as  Patsie 
Oddie  saw,  and  he  saw  also  when  her  chain  parted. 
298 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"  Now  she's  draggin',"  he  muttered  then,  and 
waited  to  see  what  action  Orcutt  would  take. 
"Why  in  God's  name  don't  he  do  something?" 
and  ordered  the  man  at  the  wheel  on  the  Delia  to 
stand  down. 

Rounding  to  and  laying  the  Delia  as  near  to  the 
Eldorado  as  he  dared  in  that  sea,  he  roared  out  to 
Orcutt:  "What  in  God's  name  are  you  doing 
there,  Artie  Orcutt?  Don't  you  see  your  one 
anchor  can't  hold  her?  Cut  the  spars  out  of  her — 
both  spars,  man !  " 

Orcutt  was  frightened  enough  then,  and  in  short 
order  had  the  spars  over  the  side.  That  helped 
her,  but  it  could  not  save  her.  It  was  too  late.  She 
was  still  dragging — slowly,  slowly,  but  sure  as  fate, 
and  promising  to  drag  more  rapidly  as  the  water 
grew  shoaler.  And  it  was  getting  shoaler  all  the 
time. 

Oddie  threw  up  his  hands.  "  They're  goin' ! 
To-night  will  see  her  and  them  buried  in  the  sand." 
He  turned  to  his  crew,  standing  in  subdued  groups 
about  the  Delia's  deck.  "  I  want  a  man  to  go  with 
me  in  the  dory.     Maybe  we  c'n  get  them  off." 

There  were  plenty  ready  to  go;  but  he  wanted 
only  one.  "  No,"  he  said  to  one,  "  you've  got  a 
wife,"  and  to  another,  u  You'll  be  missed,  too.  I 
want  somebody  nobody  gives  a  damn  about — 
like  myself!  "  and  took  a  young  fellow — there  is 
299 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

always  one  such  in  every  crew  of  fishermen — that 
swore  he  had  not  mother,  father,  brother,  sister, 
nor  a  blessed  soul  on  earth  that  cared  whether  he 
\  ever  came  home  or  was  lost.  And  doubtless  he  was 
telling  the  truth,  for  he  certainly  acted  up  to  it.  A 
hard  case  he  was,  but  a  good  fisherman.  And 
courage?  He  had  courage.  He  laughed — no 
affected  cackle,  but  a  good  round  laugh — when  he 
leaped  over  the  side  and  into  the  dory  with  Patsie 
Oddie. 

"  If  I  don't  come  back,"  he  called  to  his  bunk- 
mate,  "  you  c'n  have  that  diddy-box  youVe  been 
so  crazy  to  get — the  diddy-box  and  all's  in  it. 
For  the  rest,  you  c'n  all  have  a  raffle  and  give  the 
money  to  the  Widows'  and  Orphans'  Fund,  back  in 
Gloucester." 

"  Malachi-boy,  but  you're  a  man  after  my  own 
heart,"  said  Oddie,  as  the  dory  lifted  on  to  the 
seas  and  away  from  the  shelter  of  the  Delia's  side. 
And  Malachi  laughed  at  that.  There  was  what 
he  lived  for — where  Patsie  Oddie  praised  one  must 
have  been  a  man. 

A  dory  is  the  safest  small  boat  that  the  craft  of 
man  has  yet  devised  for  living  in  troubled  waters. 
Handled  properly,  it  will  live  where  ships  will 
founder.  And  yet,  though  Patsie  Oddie  and 
Malachi  Jennings  were  the  two  men  to  the  oars, 
it  was  too  much  even  for  the  dory  in  that  sea; 
300 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

and  over  she  went  before  they  were  half-way  to 
the  Eldorado,  The  crew  of  the  Delia,  seeing  them 
bob  up,  and  for  the  time  safely  clinging  to  the 
plug-strap,  whisked  another  dory  to  the  rail  and 
ready,  but  their  Skipper  waved  them  back. 

"  Pay  out  an  empty  dory !  "  came  his  voice 
above  the  wind's  opposition.  Which  they  did,  and 
speedily,  and  Patsie  and  Malachi  got  into  it;  and 
with  great  care,  the  two  men  lying  in  the  bottom 
of  it  were  hauled  alongside  the  Delia  and  helped 
aboard. 

"  No  man  can  row  a  dory  this  day,"  was  Patsie' s 
first  word.  "  And  a  man  with  big  boots  and  oil- 
skins overboard  in  that  sea — too  small  a  chance. 
But  put  a  longer  line  on  that  same  dory  and  pay  it 
out  again."  Which  they  did  also,  and  in  that  way 
began  to  take  the  gang  off  the  Eldorado. 

Five  trips  of  the  dory  were  made,  two  of  the 
Eldorado's  crew  coming  back  each  trip,  one 
crouched  in  the  stern  and  the  other  lying  flat  on  the 
bottom  amidships.  It  was  the  roughest  kind  of  a 
passage,  and  even  when  the  dory  would  come 
alongside  the  Delia  the  most  careful  handling  was 
needed  to  get  them  safely  aboard. 

Orcutt,  of  course,  was  the  last  man  to  come 

aboard.     Bad  as  he  was,  he  could  do  no  less  than 

that — stand  by  his  vessel  to  the  last.     When  he 

came  alongside  the  Delia,  he  rose  from  the  bottom 

301 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

of  the  dory,  his  companion  having  safely  boarded 
the  Delia,  and  lunged  for  the  rail.  Never  a  quick 
man  on  his  feet,  nor  quick  to  think  and  act,  and 
now  trembling  with  anxiety,  Orcutt  made  a  mess  of 
boarding.  He  had  to  stop  long  enough,  too,  to 
look  up  at  Oddie  and  think  what  a  fool  of  a  man 
Oddie  was  altogether — a  mind  like  a  child !  So,  in 
the  middle  of  it  all,  he  did  not  get  the  rise  of  the 
dory  to  throw  him  into  the  air.  He  waited  just  that 
instant  too  long — it  took  nerve — and  then  he  had 
to  hurry,  and  the  uprise  of  the  dory  was  not  there 
to  throw  him  into  the  air  and  on  to  the  Delia's  rail. 
Clothes  soaked  in  brine  and  heavy  boots,  a  man  is 
not  a  buoyant  thing  in  the  water,  and  this  was  a 
heavy  sea.  So  Orcutt,  falling  between  dory  and 
vessel,  went  down — deep  down — and  when  he 
came  up  it  was  where  the  tide  swept  down  under 
the  vessel's  quarter. 

Patsie  Oddie,  standing  almost  above  him, 
caught  the  appeal  of  Orcutt's  eyes,  and  then  saw 
him  go  under  again.  "  If  he  comes  up  again  'twill 
be  clear  astern,"  thought  Oddie,  "  and  the  third 
time  with  all  that  gear  on  him  he'll  never  come  up 
— and  if  'tisn't  Providence,  then  what  is  it?  "  And 
this  was  a  cold  winter's  day,  and  Oddie  himself 
soaked  in  sea-water.  "  And  if  he  don't  come 
up,"  thought  Oddie,  "  if  he  don't  come  up — Lord 
God,  must  I  do  more  than  I've  done  already  for 
302 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

a  man  I  don't  like — a  man  that  I  know  is  no  good 
— for  a  man  in  my  way — a  man,  too,  that  would  no 
more  go  overboard  for  me,  even  on  the  calmest 
day,  than  he'd  cut  his  own  throat?"  And  there 
was  that  queer  smile  that  Orcutt  had  thrown  at 
him  as  he  stood  up  in  the  dory — Oddie  did  not 
forget  that.  And  then  he  saw  Orcutt's  sou'-wester 
on  the  water  and  the  man  himself  beneath  it. 

No  more  thought  of  that.  Overboard  went 
Oddie  with  all  his  own  weight  of  clothes,  oilskins, 
woolens,  and  big  boots,  while  quick-witted  men 
hove  the  bight  of  the  main-sheet  after  him;  and 
Oddie,  grappling  with  the  smothering  and  fright- 
ened Orcutt,  smashed  him  full  in  the  face.  "  Blast 
you,  Artie  Orcutt,  there's  fun  in  beating  you  even 
here,"  and  hooked  on  to  the  collar  of  Orcutt's  oil 
jacket  with  one  hand  and  grabbed  the  main-sheet 
just  before  the  tide  would  have  carried  them  out 
of  reach. 

Safe  on  the  deck  of  the  Delia,  Orcutt  offered 
his  hand  to  Oddie,  who  did  not  seem  to  notice,  but 
said,  "  If  you  go  below,  Captain  Orcutt,  you'll  find 
a  change  of  dry  clothes  in  my  room,  and  you  c'n 
turn  in  there  and  rest  yourself." 

"  But  I  want  to  thank  you,"  said  Orcutt,  over- 
whelmed. 

11  Take  your  thanks  to  the  divil,"  said  Oddie  to 
that.  "  'Twas  for  no  love  of  you  I  stood  by.  You 
303 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

c'n  have  the  best  on  this  vessel,  but  take  your  hand  ? 
Blast  you,  no!  Go  below,  or  I'll  throw  you  be- 
low.''   And  Orcutt  went  below  without  delay. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  then.  Even  while 
they  were  hoisting  that  last  dory  over  the  rail  Od- 
die  had  given  his  orders  to  drive  out.  At  first  all 
thought  she  would  come  clear,  but  in  a  little  while 
they  began  to  doubt,  and  doubt  turned  to  misgiv- 
ing, and  misgiving  to  certainty.  Sea  and  wind 
were  too  much  for  them  now.  In  saving  the 
Eldorado9 s  crew  they  had  waited  too  long — the 
tide  was  now  against  them  also — and  now  it  was 
no  use.  It  was  Oddie  himself  who  said  so  at  last, 
and  went  aloft  before  it  was  too  dark  to  take  a 
look  at  the  surf  they  were  falling  into. 

He  stayed  aloft  for  about  ten  minutes,  and  when 
he  came  down  all  hands  knew  it  was  to  be  desperate 
work  that  night. 

"  Put  her  about,"  was  his  first  order,  and  "  Take 
a  sounding,  Martin,"  his  second. 

She  came  about  in  the  settling  blackness  and 
started  for  shoal  water. 

"  You  might's  well  put  her  sidelights  up,"  he 
said  next.  "  Nobody'll  get  in  our  road  to-night — 
nor  we  in  anybody  else's — but  we'll  go  ship-shape. 
And  what  do  you  get?  "  he  asked  of  Martin,  when 
the  lead  came  up. 

"  Eighteen  fathom,"  was  the  word  from  Mar- 
304 


Patsie   Oddie's  Black  Night 

tin.  Eighteen  fathom,  and  this  a  winter  gale  and 
a  winter  sea,  and  the  strongest  of  tides  against 
them! 

11  Eighteen  fathom  and  goin'  into  it  straight's 
ever  a  vessel  c'n  go,"  said  Oddie.  "  Wicked 
'tis,  but  the  one  thing'll  make  me  laugh  when  we 

g° 

"  Sixteen  fathom !  "  from  Martin. 

"  Sixteen?    She's  sure  shoaling " 

Oddie  was  at  the  wheel  himself  then,  and  the 
Delia  was  beginning  to  feel  the  pounding.  They 
could  not  see  the  sky  at  all,  it  was  that  black,  but 
all  around  they  could  see  the  combers  breaking 
white — so  white  that  they  made  a  kind  of  light  of 
their  own.  And  then  it  was,  with  the  Lord  knows 
how  much  wind  behind  them  and  seas  mast-head 
high  and  the  little  vessel  taking  it  fair  abeam,  that 
the  crew  of  the  Delia  and  the  crew  of  the  Eldorado 
guessed  what  was  running  in  Patsie  Oddie's  mind. 
He  was  to  drive  her  across  the  bar !  With  all  the 
sail  in  the  Delia  on  her,  to  let  her  take  the  full  force 
of  it  and  bang  her  across  the  shoals,  where  soon 
there  would  not  be  enough  water  to  let  her  set  up 
on  an  even  keel ! 

Martin  Carr  was  heaving  the  lead  all  the  time, 
and  all  noted  how  he  made  himself  heard  when  it 
came  to  ten  fathom. 

"  Ten  fathom !  "  the  crew  repeated,  and  mur- 
305 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

mured  it  over  till  one  got  courage  to  ask,  "  Is  it 
going  to  drown  us  you  are,  Captain  Oddie?  " 

"  I'm  trying  to  save  you,  boys,"  he  answered, 
and  his  voice  was  as  tender  as  could  be  and  yet  be 
heard  above  a  roaring  gale. 

"  Nine  and  a  half,"  and  then,  "  Nine  fathom!  " 
came  from  Martin  Carr,  barely  able  to  hold  his 
place  by  the  rail,  the  vessel  was  pitching  so. 

It  was  at  eight  fathoms  that  Artie  Orcutt  raised 
a  cry  of  protest,  and,  hearing  that,  Oddie  ordered 
Martin  to  sound  no  more.  "  Bring  the  lead  here, 
Martin,"  said  Oddie,  and  taking  a  big  bait  knife 
he  always  kept  on  the  house,  with  one  stroke  cut 
the  lead-line  off  short.  Then  he  opened  the  slide 
of  the  cabin  companion-way  and  hove  the  lead  on 
to  the  cabin  floor  with  a  "  There,  now,  maybe  we 
are  goin'  to  be  lost.  I  think  myself  that  maybe 
we  will,  but  some  of  ye  mayn't  die  of  fright  now, 
anyway." 

She  was  fair  into  it  then,  making  wild  work  of 
it,  with  Oddie  himself  to  the  wheel,  and  all  his 
great  strength  needed  to  hold  her.  He  called  one 
of  his  men  to  help  him  once,  and  he,  feeling  the 
full  force  of  it,  now  and  again  would  start  to  ease 
her  up  a  little,  but  the  moment  a  spoke  went  down 
so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth  Patsie  Oddie's  big 
arms  would  work  the  other  way.  "  Maybe  you 
think  this  is  a  place  to  tack  ship,"  Oddie  said 
306 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

once,  and  the  wheel  stayed  up  and  she  took  it 
full  force. 

How  Oddie  ever  expected  to  save  the  Delia  no- 
body ever  knew,  beyond  trying  to  lift  her  across 
with  the  sheer  weight  of  the  wind  to  her  sails. 
And  that  would  be  sheer  luck,  such  luck  as  had 
never  befallen  a  vessel  in  their  plight  before. 
Other  men  of  courage  with  stout  vessels  must  have 
tried  that,  they  knew,  and  none  of  them  had  ever 
got  over,  nor  come  back  to  tell  how  close  they  came 
to  it. 

And  that  was  all  there  was  to  it — sheer  luck, 
Oddie  would  have  told  them,  had  they  asked  him. 
And  yet  it  was  not  luck  altogether.  True,  he  knew 
no  channel  across — there  was  no  channel  across — 
and  yet  he  knew  there  were  little  gullies  scooped 
out  here  and  there  on  the  sand- ridges.  And  if  a 
man  could  make  one  now  and  one  again,  jumping 
over  the  almost  dry  beach,  as  it  were,  between 
them — who  knows? — it  might  be  done.  On  a 
black  night  like  this  nobody  could  see  the  gullies, 
or  on  any  kind  of  a  night,  for  that  matter;  but  then 
there  was  that  something — he  did  not  know  what 
to  call  it — inside  of  him  that  told  him  the  things 
he  could  not  hear  nor  see  nor  feel.  And  then  again, 
let  a  vessel  alone,  and  she  will  naturally  shy  for 
the  deep  water.  Force  her  with  the  rudder,  and 
she  will  go  where  the  rudder  sends  her.  Oddie 
307 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

forced  her,  but  only  to  make  her  take  the  full 
weight  of  the  wind.  It  was  necessary  to  drive  her 
over  if  ever  she  was  to  get  over  at  all.  That  same 
something  inside  told  him  when  her  nose  was  near- 
ing  the  high  shoals — it  came  to  him  as  if  her  quiv- 
ering planks  carried  the  message ;  there  it  was,  put 
her  off  now,  and  now  again,  now  hold  her  that  the 
wind  may  have  its  lifting  effect,  now  let  her  go  and 
she'll  find  the  way.  That  was  the  way  of  it — 
bang,  bang,  bang,  on  her  side  mostly,  with  her 
planks  smashing  against  the  bare  bottom  as  she 
drove  over  the  sand-ridges — her  stem  rushing 
through  at  an  awful  clip  when  she  found  a  gully  a 
little  deeper  than  usual. 

The  great  seas  broached  over  her,  and  it  became 
dangerous  to  remain  on  deck.  So  Oddie  ordered 
all  hands  below  and  the  slides  drawn  tight  after 
them,  fore  and  aft. 

"  I  don't  see  the  difference  whether  we're  washed 
off  up  here  or  drowned  below,"  said  one.  "  Go  be- 
low, just  the  same,"  said  Oddie,  and  below  they  all 
went,  while  Oddie,  lashing  himself  hard  and  fast, 
prepared  for  what  further  fury  wind  and  sea  had 
in  store  for  himself  and  the  Delia. 

It  was  a  sea  to  batter  a  lighthouse  down.     It 

takes  shoal  water  for  wicked  seas,  and  this  certainly 

was  shoal  water,  with  the  sand  off  bottom  swirling 

around  deck.     A  noble  vessel  was  the  Delia,  but 

308 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

when  the  sea  took  charge  that  night  everything 
was  swept  clean  from  her  decks.  Dories  first — her 
own  eight  and  the  four  of  the  Eldorado's  that  had 
been  picked  up,  twelve  in  all — went  with  one 
smash.  Oddie  allowed  himself  a  little  pang  as  he 
watched  them  and  heard  the  crash.  It  was  too 
dark  to  see  them  clearly;  but  he  knew  how  they 
looked,  floating  off  in  the  white  combers  in 
kindling-wood.  The  booby-hatches  went  next, 
and  after  them  the  gurry-kids — match- wood  all. 
Everything  that  was  not  bolted  went.  The  very 
rails  went  at  last,  crackling  from  the  stanch- 
ions as  if  they  were  cigar-box  sides  when  they 
did  go. 

"  'Twill  be  the  house  next,"  muttered  Oddie. 
"  And  then  her  planks  will  come  wide  apart — and 

then "      He    rolled    it    between    his    teeth. 

"Well,  then  we'll  all  go  together.  But" — he 
locked  his  jaws  again — "  drive  her  you  must,  Patsie 
Oddie,"  and  bang,  bang,  smash,  bang,  and  smash 
again  he  held  her  to  it. 

And  in  the  morning  she  came  clear;  still  an 
awful  sea  on  and  wind  to  tear  the  heart  out  of 
the  ocean  itself,  but  clear  water — beautiful,  clear 
water.  By  the  morning  light  he  saw  what  he  could 
not  see  in  the  dark  night,  that  her  port  anchor  was 
gone  from  her  bow — scraped  off  against  the  bot- 
tom— and  that  her  decks  were  covered  with  the 
309 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

sand  off  the  bottom  also;  but  she  herself — his 
darling  Delia — was  all  right.  There  was  nothing 
gone  that  could  not  be  replaced — maybe  a  bit  loose 
in  the  seams,  but,  Lord,  Gloucester  was  full  of  good 
calkers — and  now  they  had  the  beautiful  clear 
water.  God  be  praised!  And,  after  all,  if  never 
a  woman  in  all  the'  world  smiled  on  him  again, 
'twas  worth  while  saving  men's  lives. 

Oddie  drew  the  slide  back  from  the  cabin  com- 
panion-way. "  Set  the  watch,"  he  called,  and  the 
first  on  watch,  Martin  Carr,  came  up  and  took  the 
wheel  from  him. 

11  Gloucester,"  said  Oddie — "  you  know  the 
course,  Martin.  And  be  easy  on  her.  'Tisn't  in 
nature  for  a  vessel  not  to  loosen  a  bit  after  last 
night,  but  there'll  be  nothing  the  pumps  won't 
clear.  I  know  that  by  the  heave  of  her  under  me. 
She's  all  right,  Martin — a  great  vessel.  We  owe 
our  lives  to  her  ableness  this  night,  but  pump  her 
out,"  and  went  below  to  draw  off  his  boots.  His 
legs  were  so  swollen  that  he  had  to  split  the  leather 
from  knee  to  heel  to  get  them  off,  and  when  he 
turned  them  upside  down  sand  ran  out  of  the  legs 
of  them.  "  A  wild  night,"  he  said,  and  looked 
curiously  at  the  sand — a  wild  night  it  was — "  and 
I'm  tired.  Since  leavin'  Gloucester  I've  not  seen 
my  bunk.  Call  me  in  two  hours,"  and  turned  in  on 
the  floor  and  fell  instantly  asleep. 
310 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

After  a  storm  it  should  be  good  to  see  the  fine 
green  water  rippling  again  under  the  sun,  but  to 
Patsie  Oddie  it  brought  no  sense  of  joy.  He  only 
glowered  and  glowered  as  down  the  coast  he  sailed 
the  Delia.  Even  the  sight  of  Cape  Sable,  which 
generally  brings  a  smile  to  the  faces  of  fishermen 
homeward  bound,  had  no  effect  on  him.  He  drove 
her  on,  and  even  seemed  to  welcome  the  cold  nor'- 
wester  that  met  him  when  he  straightened  out  for 
what  in  a  fair  wind,  and  his  vessel  tight,  would 
have  been  one  long  last  riotous  leg. 

He  smashed  into  that  nor'-wester,  and  it  smashed 
into  him.  Tack,  tack,  tack — the  Delia  did  not 
have  her  own  way  all  the  time.  Three  days  and 
three  nights  it  was,  with  the  able  Delia  gradually 
encasing  herself  in  ice.  Only  the  ice  seemed  to 
please  Patsie  Oddie.  The  day  he  left  Gloucester 
it  had  been  just  like  that  on  incoming  vessels.  And 
that  was  a  bitter  day,  and  it  was  a  bitter  day  again 
when  he  was  coming  back — and  not  with  cold 
alone.  Ice,  ice,  ice — "  Let  her  ice  up,"  and  from 
Cape  Sable  to  the  slip  in  Gloucester  Harbor  he 
kept  her  going. 

The  Delia  was  no  sooner  tied  to  the  dock  than 
away  went  the  crew  of  the  Eldorado.  Away  also 
went  the  Delia's  crew  as  soon  as  they  had  tidied 
things  up  and  the  Skipper  had  given  the  word. 

Patsie  himself  did  not  hurry.  There  was  noth- 
3ii 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

ing  for  him  to  hurry  for.  So  he  cleaned  up, 
changed  his  clothes,  locked  the  cabin  of  the  Delia, 
and  went  slowly  up  the  dock. 

He  was  hailed  on  the  way  by  any  number  of 
people — fishermen,  dealers,  lumpers,  idlers.  Those 
who  knew  him  tendered  congratulations  or  shook 
hands,  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder — he  had  done 
a  fine  thing.  Some  there  were  who  stood  in  awe 
of  him,  only  looked  at  him,  eaxmined  face  and 
figure  for  further  indications  of  the  daring  of  the 
man.  The  whole  water-front  was  talking  over  it. 
Rapidly  the  whole  town  was  learning  it. 

Patsie  nodded,  shook  hands,  said,  "  How  is  it 
here?"  and  "Thank  ye  kindly,"  and  went  on 
his  way  to  the  owner's  store.  He  reckoned  up  his 
trip,  ordered  a  few  things  immediately  needed  on 
the  vessel,  and  said,  "  That's  all  I'm  thinkin'  for 
now,"  and  went  up  the  street.  On  the  way  he 
passed  Delia  Corrigan's  house.  He  did  not  mean 
to,  but  he  could  not  help  it — he  looked  up  for  sign 
of  her  as  he  got  abreast  of  the  windows.  There 
she  was,  cold  as  it  was,  window  raised  and  calling 
to  him.  He  waited  to  make  sure,  and  she  again 
said,  "  Won't  you  come  in?  " 

Patsie  went  up  the  steps  and  into  the  snug  living- 
room,  where  Delia  was  waiting — a  rosy,  whole- 
some-looking young  woman,  now  bravely  trying  to 
smile. 

312 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"  Home  again,  Patsie?  " 

"  Home  again,  Delia — yes." 

11  And  a  fine  thing  you  did." 

"  No  fine  thing  that  I  can  see  to  it.  There  were 
men  on  a  vessel  that  might  have  been  lost,  and  I 
took  them  off  and  gave  them  a  passage  home." 

»  patsie " 

"Yes?" 

"  You  left  me  in  a  hurry  that  morning,  Patsie. 
You  shouldn't  have  rushed  out  so.  After  you  were 
gone  Captain  Marrs  stepped  in  to  tell  me  about  his 
rescue  of  Captain  Orcutt  and  part  of  his  crew. 
And  then  he  began  to  tell  me  other  things — about 
you.  He's  a  good  friend  of  yours,  Patsie.  It  was 
good  to  listen  to  him,  though  I  knew  it  all  before 
— and  more.  Don't  fear  that  all  the  good  things 
you  did  aren't  known  to  me.  But  after  a  time  I 
began  to  see  what  it  was  he  meant,  and  without 
letting  him  finish  I  ran  out  to  see  you.  But  you 
were  gone.  I  could  just  see  your  vessel  going  out 
by  the  Point  in  all  that  gale.  You  put  to  sea  in 
all  that  gale,  Patsie?" 

"  Put  to  sea?  Yes,  and  lucky  I  did,  maybe,  for 
I  was  no  more  than  in  time  to  bring  back  the  man 
you  want — and  he'd  never  seen  Gloucester  again 
if  I  hadn't." 

"Who  was  that?" 

"  Who  was  that?    Why,  Delia !  " 
3i3 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"  Who  was  that?" 

"Who?    Why,  who  but  Orcutt." 

"Captain  Orcutt?  No,  Patsie — it  wasn't  Or- 
cutt. He  did  come  back  in  your  vessel,  the  man  I 
want — but  it  wasn't  Orcutt." 

"  Not  Orcutt  ?    Not  Orcutt  ?  " 

"  No,  not  Orcutt.  Oh,  Patsie,  but  it  is  hard  on 
a  woman !  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  what  a  hard  man 
you  are  to  make  understand !  I  suppose  I  have  to 
do  it — you're  that  backward  yourself.  It's  hard 
on  me,  Patsie,  but  you'll  go  no  more  to  sea  in  a 
gale,  and  me  here  shaking  with  fear  for  you.  You 
did  bring  back  the  man  I  want,  Patsie.  Over 
Sable  Island  bar  he  drove  the  Delia,  but  it  wasn't 
Orcutt." 

Patsie,  trembling,  stared  at  her.  "  Not  Orcutt, 
Delia?" 

"  Patsie,  I've  said  it  a  dozen  times.  It  wasn't 
Orcutt,  and  yet  'twas  somebody  in  your  vessel. 
Oh,  why  did  you  mistake  me  that  morning,  Patsie  ? 
Would  I  be  a  woman  and  not  have  a  word  of  pity 
for  a  man  that  came  so  nigh  being  lost  as  Captain 
Orcutt  would  have  been  but  for  Wesley  Marrs? 
And  you  are  such  a  backward  man,  Patsie.  Don't 
you  hear  me,  Patsie?  Then  look  at  me,  dear — 
look  at  me — it  wasn't —  And  who  can  it  be? 
Who  was  it,  Patsie,  that  drove  the  Delia  over 
Sable  Island  bar,  himself  to  the  wheel?  " 


Patsie  Oddie's  Black  Night 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  Patsie — u  Delia  mavourneen, 
mavourneen,  mavourneen!  " 

He  drew  back  a  step,  got  another  look  at  her 
face,  and  clasped  her  again.  "  And  'twas  me  all 
the  time,  asthore  ?  " 

"  You  all  the  time.  And  if  you  hadn't  been  in 
such  a  hurry  I'd  have  told  you  that  morning." 

"  Oh,  Delia,  Delia,"  and  from  his  beard  she 
caught  the  murmur — "  and  the  black,  black  night 
I  put  in  on  Sable  Island  bar !  Oh,  the  black,  black 
night  I  almost  left  him  and  his  men  to  die.  Oh, 
Delia,  Delia,  there  was  hate  and  murder  in  my 
heart  that  night." 

"  Never  mind  that  now,  Patsie.  You  had  it  out 
with  yourself,  and  it  wasn't  hate  nor  murder  at 
the  last,  Patsie." 

"  Delia,  dear,  but  'tis  a  wicked  man  couldn't  be 
good  with  you,"  and  gathered  her  to  him. 

«  Yes,  but " 

"  But  what,  alanna?" 

11  My  breath,  dear."  She  raised  her  head  and 
looked  into  his  eyes.  "  Patsie,  Patsie,  but  the 
strength  of  you !  " 


3i5 


Books  by  James  B.  Connolly 

Published   by   Charles   Scribner's   Sons 


"  Mr.  Connolly  is  acquainted  with  all  the  details  of 
the  phase  of  seafaring  life  he  has  chosen  to  portray ; 
and  he  writes  with  all  the  freshness  and  energy  of 
youth,  with  a  whole-hearted  love  of  his  subject,  and 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  never  impairs  the  simple 
directness  of  his  unaffected  but  expressive  style." 
—  The  London  Spectator. 

u  There  is  no  other  young  writer  so  thoroughly  in 
sympathy  with  a  type  of  seafaring  life  fast  disappear- 
ing. A  rollicking  sea  breeze  drives  the  salt  spray 
through  every  story  he  tells." — New  York  Sun. 

uNo  more  adventurous  set  of  men  live  to-day 
than  the  hardy  fishermen  of  the  Gloucester  fleet,  and 
no  one  has  caught  the  spirit  of  their  life  better  than 
James  B.  Connolly." — New  York  Tribune. 

u  It  is  a  stirring  life  that  Mr.  Connolly  describes, 
a  life  full  of  excitement,  of  feverishly  hard  toil  and 
furiously  enjoyed  spells  ashore." — London  Athenaeum. 

"Whether  Mr.  Connolly  writes  of  the  sailor's 
love  or  his  adventurous  life,  he  succeeds  in  holding 
attention  by  reason  of  the  graphic  force  of  the  narra- 
tive."— Philadelphia  Press. 


BY    JAMES     B.    CONNOLLY 

THE  SEINERS 

With  Frontispiece  by  M.  J.   Burns 
i2tno,  $1.50 

"  A  real  tale  of  the  sea,  which  makes  one  feel  the 
whip  of  the  wind  and  taste  the  salt  of  the  flying  spray 
— such  is  Mr.  J.  B.  Connolly's  new  book,  'The 
Seiners.'  .  .  .  Certainly  there  is  not  a  lover  of  the 
sea,  man  or  woman,  who  will  fail  to  be  delighted 
with  this  breezy,  stirring  tale." 

— London  Daily  Telegraph. 

"This  is  Mr.  Connolly's  first  long  novel,  and  it 
carries  the  sails  easily.  In  Tommy  Clancy  he  has 
created  a  veritable  Mulvaney  of  the  Sea — a  man  of 
heart  and  infinite  resource,  with  an  endless  flow  of 
amusing  palaver  to  hide  his  deeper  feelings." 

—  Collier's  Weekly. 

"The  Gloucester  fisherman,  his  loves,  his  crafts, 
his  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears,  his  vernacular, 
and  all  that  go  to  make  him  one  of  the  world's  heroic 
characters,  are  here  brought  out  in  the  brightest 
light." — Gloucester  Times. 

"  If  you  love  the  tales  where  men  do  things  and 
where  they  glory  in  reckless  daring  for  very  love  of 
it,  do  not  fail  to  read  c  The  Seiners.'  It  is  the  best 
sea  story  that  has  come  from  any  pen  for  many  a 
long  day." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  A  capital,  breezy  sea  tale." — New  York  Sun. 

"  These  daring  fishermen  would  rather  race  than 
eat." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Full  of  vigor  and  song,  and  the  breath  of  the 
sea." — St.  James*  Gazette. 


BY    JAMES    B.    CONNOLLY 

Out  of  Gloucester 

With  Illustrations  by 

M.  J.  Burns  and  Frank  Brangwyn 

l2mot  $1.50 

"  Mr.  Connolly  has  a  touch  of  gay  humor  in  his 
narratives.  He  knows  his  sea  and  his  sailors  well.  He 
understands  how  to  bring  dramatic  power  and  effect 
into  a  story." — Congregationalist. 

"  This  new  volume  of  six  stories  of  ocean  adven- 
ture will  strengthen  Mr.  Connolly's  reputation  as  the 
best  delineator  of  the  actual  life  of  our  New  England 
deep-sea  fishermen  that  has  yet  appeared." 

— Boston  'Journal. 

"  His  book  gives  graphic  descriptions  of  life  on  board 
of  a  fisherman,  and  has  the  genuine  salt-water  flavor. 
Mr.  Connolly  knows  just  what  he  is  writing  about  from 
actual  experience,  as  his  book  very  plainly  indicates, 
and  as  such  it  is  a  valuable  addition  to  sea  literature." 

— Gloucester  Times. 

u  That  all  the  romance  and  adventure  has  not  gone 
out  of  New  England  seafaring  is  easily  demonstrated 
by  Mr.  Connolly  in  this  volume  of  roaring  good  stories 
about  the  Gloucester  fisherman.  .  .  .  They  are  capital- 
ly told  and  they  put  you  right  into  the  life  they  tell 
about." — Providence  News. 

"  Mr.  Connolly  really  knows  the  sea  and  the  men 
that  sail  it,  and  his  love  for  it  is  apparent  on  every 
page." — Leslie's  Weekly. 

"  A  collection  that  for  all-round  excellence  and  in- 
terest will  be  hard  to  duplicate." 

— Chicago  Record-Herald. 


BY    JAMES     B.     CONNOLLY 

JEB    HUTTON 

The  Story  of  a  Georgia  Boy 

Illustrated.     $1.20  net 

"  Will  rank  beside  4  Captains  Courageous.'  " 

—New  York  Globe. 

"  A  bright,  dashing  story,  sure  to  charm  boys  who 
love  the  strenuous  life.'* — The  Outlook, 

"  Boys  will  read  this  story  of  a  Southern  boy's  life 
with  eagerness  and  interest.  ...  A  wide-awake  boy 
who  reads  the  book  will  find  something  to  stir  his 
blood  in  almost  every  chapter." — Independent. 

"  Fresh  and  breezy,  and  ought  to  make  Mr. 
Connolly  a  favorite  with  young  people." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  It  is  a  good  book  for  boys  to  read,  with  plenty 
of  active  spirits,  jolly  fun,  and  unobtruded  seriousness. 
A  good  book  for  the  Sunday-school  library." 

— Congregationalist. 

" l  Jeb '  is  certainly  a  noble  fellow,  a  shy,  rustic 
young  giant,  with  a  heart  made  to  match  his  frame 
and  an  indomitable  spirit." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  A  story  that  will  hold  the  attention  and  enlarge 
the  outlook,  intellectual  and  moral,  of  any  boy." 

— Pittsburgh  Gazette. 

"  A  remarkably  good  story  for  boys." 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

<c l  Jeb  Hutton '  is  a  boy's  story  from  beginning  to 
end,  clean,  wholesome,  spirited,  and  calculated  to  do 
good." — Boston  Journal. 


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